


Outer Limits

by nan00k



Category: Tron - Fandom
Genre: Drama, F/M, Multi, Sci-Fi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 71,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nan00k/pseuds/nan00k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their entire world lay subject to Kevin Flynn's rules, except for the Sea of Simulation. There, there are no boundaries to the outside laws of the modern, connected world. ...Rinzler isn't done just yet. Post-Legacy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: descriptive violence, mild language, alternative coupling, original characters, dark themes, SPOILERS for Tron: Legacy.  
> Disclaimer: Tron © Disney. I only write this mess.

 

They all followed the laws set by their Creator. It was not a choice to make, no option in the matter, for which rules of their digital world that they would obey or not. Some things would never budge in programming or code, just because their world relied on the stability of those rules to exist.

There were programs and there were users.

The light cycles and land vehicles only worked on the Grid. Off-terrain vehicles were only creatable by the Creator.

The sky had its limits, as did the horizon. Their world was indeed a cage.

It was their cage, nonetheless, and they cherished it. They functioned as they should, as programs and data. Or at least… that's the way it had been.

 _Falling… falling…_

They were no longer a proper system. Thousands of errors, insurmountable data loss, system failure was imminent—

Their Creator was dead.

Their system administrator was dead.

Their champion… he was… dead.

Oh… how did it end like this?

 _Warning: power levels dropping to unsafe levels._

He had no idea it was possible to have fallen as low as he had, to have destroyed everything he had cared to love, to protect—

His mission. It was over. There was no one left to protect. Or to hold the promises he had made up to.

Their world was dying.

As was he.

 _Warning! Critical energy loss has depleted internalized memory core. Permanent shut down imminent._

He tried to find the power to fight the inevitable… but his strength was gone, with the rest of his world. He could only hope that what came next for the world, which he once fought to save from people like he had become, would be more pleasant than what he had offered it in the end.

He had betrayed them all. He did not deserve a second chance. So… he let the Seas take him.

The Seas were the only thing that were beyond even the Creator's control. Unprocessed data, unprotected encryptions… just raw, raw material that someday, was supposed to become part of the Grid. Part of their perfect universe. It bore no life to anyone who wasn't in control of the User's controls, however. For a program, it meant oblivion to meet its touch.

So very just, in his opinion, that he land there, to be consumed by the abyss his mistakes and the mistakes of his one-time companions had made.

He did not fight his descent.

 _External stimuli affecting exterior shell. Deresolution event potentiality increasing!_

But then… in the darkness… as his mind slowly unraveled as did his body…

He saw something.

Something bright.

Beyond the Seas. Beyond the Grid.

Beyond the edges of the Creator's laws.

 _Initiating file transfer._

Rinzler saw the hand of God—

 _Transfer complete._

—And took it.

 **00000**

 _Twenty-Minutes Previous_

"We are so screwed. Like, no, seriously? We're dead. We aren't even going to jail. We're going to be melted alive by the mere presence of the unholy law power these people are going to throw at us. Just like _Raiders_ , man. Just like _Raiders_."

"If you keep chattering like that behind my head, I will punch you in the face, Tom," the black haired woman at the computer screen muttered.

Thomas stopped pacing in the middle of their bedroom, giving his girlfriend a wildly distraught look. "Amy, do you have any idea how much shit we're in right now?" he demanded.

"Yes."

"Do you really?"

"Yeah. You keep bitching about it, so yeah, I'm pretty acquainted with the fact."

Thomas groaned, collapsing onto their bed. "Jesus Christ…" He ran a hand over his face, frustration and exhausting battling for dominance in his mind. He glanced over at the clock. "It's almost two A.M. How much longer, you think?"

Sighing, Amy sat back from the computer desk, blinking bleary eyes. "I'm almost done the initial coding," she said, cracking her back. "Remind me never to drink with John or Greg again."

"Yeah. Same," Thomas replied, making a face of disgust. "Much less illegal that way."

Amy shot the programmer a cocky grin. "Oh, come on, this is fun," she teased. She turned back around to type away faster onto the keyboard.

The man behind her scowled. "We could be arrested for breaking into a Fortune-500 company's internal servers," he replied dryly. "We'd never see another penny for the rest of our lives… inside a jail cell."

"Only if we're caught."

Thomas sighed and got up off the bed. There was only one bedroom in their apartment and the space was compact as it was. There was barely enough room for their cat. "Listen, I don't like being called a pussy any more than the next guy," Thomas began slowly, stopping short behind Amy at the computer desk, "but accepting a dare, while drunk, to do this was pretty dumb, Amy."

"Yeah, well, it's too late to turn back now, Tommy," Amy replied, not hesitating in the least. The screen splashed a variety of color onto her face, highlighting her smile. "You set up the firewalls, I got the bug, we're both equally involved with hacking and federal law breaking."

If that was supposed to be comforting, Thomas really didn't think it was doing the job. He rested his chin on top of her head, watching the screen dully. "Man… I hate those guys," he whined, every worry and fear returning as he considered the possibility of their actions being discovered. "So much."

Amy snorted. "Oh, hush."

Thomas watched the woman type, knowing it really was too late to back out of their decision. A drunk night with fellow programmers had led to the unthinkable: a dare. Not just any dare, of course. Amy was right to say they were both incredibly capable hackers and programmers, but she boasted a bit too loudly in front of equally rowdy friends. A dare was tossed up and Thomas and Amy foolishly took it, both their pride and the inebriation clouding their better judgments.

He personally could handle a little hack here and there, mostly for fun. It kept their skills sharp. He could handle that.

Hacking into Encom's mainframe to steal a multi-million dollar program just to claim that they could? Not so much fun. More like heart-stopping and terrifying. He wasn't too sure he could handle too much of this.

They would be in and out, Amy kept telling him, but he was still nervous. If they got caught, everything was over for them. As much as he trusted his skills and the skills of his girlfriend, they were playing a gamble that could easily ruin the rest of their lives.

Briefly, he thought about his passport. He thought it was still good, at least good enough to get them into Canada. _Always have a Plan B, I guess…_

"Holy shit…"

Thomas froze and then glanced down at Amy, alarmed. "What?" he asked, mind flying to a million different reasons why she was suddenly staring at the screen in shock. Shock was better than panic, he had to reason.

Amy was watching the code on the screen with an incredulous, almost awestruck expression. "Dude… their servers just…" She let out a cry, jumping in her seat. " _WHOA_! The entirety of Encom's FLYNN division servers just spiked in bandwidth! Like… whoa."

That was not supposed to happen, not at all. "Wait, are we doing that?" he asked, leaning in closer to the screen. She was right; the monitor feed they had on the system input and outputs was picking up a massive amount of traffic. It was coming from inside the system, however, as if a large amount of programs had just been activated. For a hundred-terabyte system, that was pretty intense.

"No!" Amy sputtered, trying to keep up with the flow of information. "I haven't even gotten into the system yet! I'm just—" Amy froze and then attacked the keyboard with rapid typing. "Hold up. This could be what we're looking for."

"What?" Thomas asked, confused.

Amy was smiling now. "Their security system is _completely_ down, Tom!" she laughed. "Ha ha! This is perfect! In and out, easy job, easy job…"

The nervousness return to Thomas's gut. " _Jesus_ … be careful, Amy," he pleaded.

"Yeah, I will," she replied, distracted. She typed for another minute before going ridged beneath him. She inhaled sharply. "Holy crap. I… I'm _in_ ," she breathed, disbelief ringing in her voice.

Thomas stared blankly at the screen with her before it hit him that time was of the essence. "Quick, don't stop!" he said, pointing at the screen. He read off a small piece of paper taped to the side of the monitor. "The file is TR567-BN. It should be in Development."

Amy made a frustrated noise. "There's not a file with that name. Are you sure?" she asked, distracted as she fought through the code, writing in hurried terminal commands.

"Yeah!" Thomas replied, glancing at the paper again. "That's what Greg said."

The screen flashed as she scrolled through the data. "Wait… there's one called TR567-CN1." Amy hesitated. "It's the only one that's close to that."

Panic overrode patience. "Oh, fuck it, just grab it!" he sputtered, reaching for the monitor, as if he could grab it through there.

Amy obeyed, typing furiously. "Transferring… oh man, it's a big file," she said quickly. She stopped and seemed confused again. "Wait, never mind. Their systems are going completely nuts, Tom. Look at this."

Thomas leaned forward, looking at the screen carefully now. If he didn't know any better… the other data was disappearing. Rapidly.

"The files are being deleted…" he said quietly, eyes growing larger. To remove that much data at once would have been insane and difficult to do for a normal user. "Shit. Someone's hacking them?" _Other than us, of course._

"No…" Amy murmured. She was typing again. "It's like… a system purge."

"Sucks for them," he said, frowning. Stealing was wrong, but this was a whole new level of criminal activity. He only hoped that Encom made backups of their older stuff. The files might have been twenty years old, but still. They were pretty valuable to just delete like this.

Amy made a small laugh. "Well, whatever this is, we got it," she said, triumphant. Windows were rapidly closing as the transfer completed and she began to shut down their hack.

"Wh—really? !"

"Uh huh."

Thomas jerked back, the panic alive again. "Get out now! Quick!" he said hurriedly, motioning at the screen. The terminal window closed—and then they were out. He sighed, entire body sagging with relief. "Oh, _Jesus_ , we did it!"

Whirling around in the desk chair, Amy made a face up at her boyfriend. "Oh, relax, would you?" she said, teasing, leaning back confidently. "You always said you wanted to do something really illegal before you turned thirty."

"Yeah… like hacking into Google or something. Not a potential future employer's secret databases." Thomas sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. It was way too late at night for this; they had work in the morning, real work. "Let's hope the firewalls work."

Amy grinned. "They won't be able to trace this, not in a million years." She paused and then braced her legs against his legs, her grin slowly growing more suggestive. "So… how's it like to be a criminal, Mr. Devlin?" she asked, teasing more.

"Um." Thomas suddenly laughed, the adrenaline rush wearing off. "Pretty badass actually." If they lived to tell about it, they definitely proved their mettle in their line of work.

The black haired woman giggled. "Ha… I knew there was a reason I loved you." She reached up and kissed him gently, her eyes shining. "A nerdy, dorky and incredibly badass computer hacker."

Thomas smirked. "I prefer cyber pirate."

"Haha, right!" Amy said, chuckling. She tilted her head, considering. "So… we have in our possession an official copy of the prototype of _Tron_. As in, a priceless antique of computer simulations… as in, the most valuable vintage computer game in existence." She smirked mischievously. "What should we do next, hmm?"

Ah, the options. "I'd say destroy it, but that'd beat the purpose," he replied, wryly. "Let's hope Greg was telling the truth about knowing someone who'd buy it. Should we call him now?"

Amy considered it. "First things first," she said, leaning up further, pushing him back onto the bed. "Let's celebrate."

And _that_ , he wasn't going to argue with.

 

 

* * *

  


 **End chapter one.**

  


* * *

 

  


  
****  


**A/Ns** :  
-"Raiders" - Thomas is referring to the film, "Raiders of the Lost Ark."  
-None of the tech stuff is this chapter is probably right. Apologies if I screwed up any important details!


	2. Chapter 2

 

Amy Talbot wasn't sure when she noticed the first signs something was wrong. Their Internet was disconnected, Wifi disabled, and she took every precaution she could to make sure that when the file was open, nothing could be seen as a red flag if the program had a watchdog attached. They hadn't taken any passcodes in the hack, so she wasn't even sure if she could open the file. Tom had told her not to open it, just in case, but curiosity got the better of her, as it usually did.

The file wasn't password protected. It was an open book… but that was about it. Reading it was an entirely different story.

Nearing midnight, she had been working on the file since after dinner, so her eyes and mind were beginning to tire. Tom was getting ready for bed. A growing frustration was building inside her chest as she began to realize the truth… that something was very wrong.

"This… this isn't TRON," she said, the words leaving her lips before she even decided she believed in it.

Tom, in the process of taking off his shoe, froze. "What?" he asked, surprised. "What do you mean?"

Amy motioned at the monitor, irritated. "Look."

She typed in the command, _Query: Where is TRON?_

"Wait," she said as Tom appeared behind her, watching obediently. "Just wait."

It didn't take long to show him what she meant. She had discovered it while attempting to find at least some kind of proof they had scored the game file. It looked nothing like it was supposed to. She didn't even know _what_ they had; it was such a mess of coding. She had never seen anything like it.

The terminal window flashed once and then the query response appeared in bold white on black:

**_RINZLER._**   


"…What the hell is Rinzler?" Tom said after a moment of taking it in. He frowned, letting her bring up the other windows of the file's contents. It was just a mismatch of data and bits of coding that really had no place in a video game.

"I have no idea. That's the only response I can figure out," Amy replied, shaking her head. She couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that they hadn't scored the game file. Even more than that, she had no idea what this was. She sighed as they browsed the contents. "The data… it's so corrupted. Part of it's not even really functional anymore."

Tom made a tsk-ing sound. "Oh, shit. Did… no, we didn't do this, did we?" he asked.

"Maybe it's not the file at all." Amy scowled. "Fuck."

"Oh well," Tom said, good-naturedly. He smiled at her, comforting. "We hacked into ENCOM, Amy. That counts for something."

"True…" Amy shook her head, leaning back in the chair. "No big paycheck though." She had been looking forward to never having to work again in her life…

Tom laughed. "The thrill was enough for me. I'm headed to bed." He leaned down, kissing her cheek, before pulling away. "Don't stay up too late."

Amy sighed, going back to the keyboard. "I won't…"

There really wasn't much she could do anyway. Half of her wanted to keep at it, just to see if she could find out the file's function. It seemed far more advanced than anything she had ever seen. Either that, or it was a dummy file, which was possible. It did seem rather complex for a dummy file, however. It had to have some purpose.

The other half of her mind urged her to drop it. She glanced at the clock, frowning. She had work the following morning, so it would have been better to call it quits now. She could look at it the next day and try to crack it then.

She closed out of her terminal window, expecting to shut the computer itself off soon after.

She had not been expecting the entire screen to flash to black and then the terminal window reappearing, as if it had taken over the entirety of the system.

Amy stared, about to say something to Tom about it, but without any warning, a message appeared in the window.

 ** _USER_** , the text said. There was no indication of where the message had come from.

Amy stared at the screen. Suddenly, the terminal window exploded with activity.

**_USER USER USER USER USER_**   


"Tom?" she whispered, eyes growing larger. "Tom, come… come back here."

 _  
_

_**USER USER USER USER USER USER USER**_   


The bed creaked and Tom walked up, looking a bit irritated. But the moment he saw the screen, his irritation faded into shock. "What is it doing?" he asked. The text continued over and over, the screen flashing like some sort of LED light as the words kept appearing.

Amy immediately tried to shut it down. "I don't know! It's—some sort of watchdog?" she said, thinking out loud. The mouse was gone and the terminal was not replying to any of her commands to cease and desist. The entire computer was out of her control. "I can't access anything but the terminal window. Shit!"

"Damn. ENCOM is smart," Tom said, sounding impressed at the idea of an internal defense mechanism in the program file.

The black haired woman ignored him, feeling the first twinges of panic settling in. "It's not stopping."

The text kept going and going, "USER," over and over again. Amy watched, absolutely bewildered. There was no cause for this. The Ethernet cable was unplugged and their Wifi had been shut off manually, just for this purpose. If this was a backdoor…

Then, without warning, the text stopped repeating the single word.

 **…**

"Hey… look. It's changed," Tom said, noticing. He pointed at the screen, where the "User" comment had been replaced by an ellipses.

Amy watched the screen, even as the motion of the text stopped. "Wait."

She had the feeling of standing still, knowing that there was something coming. Not a person, not a single event—no, she had the feeling of being encompassed by a tidal wave's shadow, on the brink of an event so large, it made her skin tingle and her hair stand up on edge.

Then, the screen blinked.

 **  
**

**_I AM RINZLER._**   


Amy stared at the words and suddenly realized she was holding her breath.

"What…?" Tom began, but failed to finish his statement.

That was not… not a normal response. It wasn't even a response. It was a statement, and not a computer based one.

It was a declaration.

It was then things probably began to spiral out of control, Amy realized in hindsight. She licked her lips, suddenly transfixed by this change. The abnormalcy intrigued her.

 _Query: What is RINZLER?_ she typed back.

The reply was again,

 **  
**

**_I AM RINZLER_**   


Frowning, the woman typed in the entry: _Query: Where is TRON?_

It took a moment longer, but only a second.

 **  
**

**_DEAD._**   


…"Dead"? Amy stared at the screen, surprised. Tom didn't look any more enlightened. _Query: Who are you?_

 **  
**

**_RINZLER. I AM RINZLER. TRON IS DEAD._**   


Amy hesitated. _Query: What do you mean, "dead"?_

Tom made a sound of disapproval. "That's not a proper command," he said. Amy sent it anyway, curiosity overwhelming her. There was no way this could be a human being, not with the Internet disabled (there was no way someone was hacking _HER_ system), but the answers they were getting weren't anything she had ever seen from a computer program.

 **  
**

**_REPURPOSED. TRON IS DEAD. C.L.U. IS DEAD. THE CREATOR IS DEAD. RINZLER._**   


Whatever "Rinzler" was, it was not as interesting as the other parts of its reply. Amy waited, trying to collect her thoughts. None of what it was saying made sense, but… it was strangely alarming. _Query: Who is C.L.U.?_

 **  
**

**_SYSTEM ADMINISTRATOR._**   


She and Tom exchanged a look. _Query: Who is the Creator?_

There was a very lengthy pause after that query. Amy sat there, a cold sweat on her skin suddenly. This didn't feel right. It didn't feel normal. The program wasn't just responding to basic queries, it was answering non-imperative ones, ones that it should have been programmed to answer.

The command line flashed and a new, single word appeared:

 **  
**

**_FLYNN._**   


"Flynn… Flynn?" Tom repeated. He was suddenly very alarmed. Amy could sympathize as shock ripped through her mind. "Wait… _Kevin_ Flynn?"

Their idol, the leader of ENCOM, the iconic image of computer technological advancement who disappeared two decades ago: Kevin Flynn.

…Why was an obscure dummy file mentioning him, of all people?

 _Query: Do you mean Kevin Flynn?_ she shot back immediately.

The program did not reply as quickly, but the answer was brief enough to stand as a firm response in her mind.

 **  
**

**_YES._**   


"Holy shit," Amy breathed, eyes huge. What _was_ this?

Tom gave her a wary look. "Amy… this… can't be real…" he said, but he sounded desperate. As if he was trying to convince himself more than anyone. "I thought you were disconnected!"

"Hold on… hold on!" Amy cried, trying to type faster and think slower. Her heart pounded in her chest.

 _Query: What happened to Flynn?_

That was a mystery no one could solve. The program, on the other hand, had other knowledge on the matter apparently.

 **  
**

**_DEAD. C.L.U._**   


Amy turned and saw Tom staring at the screen, utterly speechless. She turned back, feeling the same reeling sensation of being completely overwhelmed. This wasn't happening. This… couldn't be happening.

Thankfully, typing was easier than speaking. She refocused her mind, trying to go for facts instead. _Query: C.L.U. killed him? How?_

The program did not hesitate.

 **  
**

**_REINTERGRATION._**   


That could mean anything and nothing. Amy let out a shaky breath. _Query: Where?_

 **  
**

**_THE GRID._**   


"The… Grid?" Tom repeated out loud. He stood back, bewildered. Amy shook her head. She had no idea.

 _Query: What is the Grid?_

The program then did something that completely changed the atmosphere of the room. It paused for a second and then flashed:

 **  
**

**_USER. USER. WHERE AM I?_**   


Amy felt cold all over. Tom jerked back, alarmed. "What the fuck is going on? !" he demanded, frightened. He looked around the room, as if looking for some kind of hidden camera. This was too real, too unnatural. It had to be a prank. Someone could have been hacking her computer. That had to be it, making her screen show an inactive internet connection, to screw with them, to trap them even in a confession of stealing the data—

Instead of dropping it, Amy sped forward, her mind on fire. This was either the best cyber prank she ever experienced—or the most frightening thing to ever happen to her.

 _Query: A new system_ , she typed. _My name is Talbot. What are you?_

 **  
**

**_I AM A PROGRAM. RINZLER. RINZLER. WHERE IS THE GRID?_**   


_Query: I don't know._ Amy shook her head, almost directing the comment to herself. She had absolutely no idea.

 **  
**

**_LOST CONTACT. SEPARATE SYSTEM. THE GRID. THE SEA OF SIMULATION._**   


_Query: What is the Sea of Simulation?_

 **  
**

**_THE END. THE END. LOST. RINZLER. RINZLER. TRON IS DEAD._**   


Before she could type another question, the computer screen changed again.

 **  
**

**_WHY AM I HERE?_**   


_Query: We obtained you in ENCOM's systems._ That was partially true. It had not been part of its main company systems, but it had been a segment of it. The FLYNN network was an older branch that most hackers talked about in whispers. It was mostly an urban legend, the remnants of Kevin Flynn's old reign.

Her reply seemed to upset the program somehow. The text sped up; she could almost feel the urgency in the words, which was ridiculous. This was a machine, she kept telling herself.

 **  
**

**_THE GRID. NOT ENCOM. NOT IN ENCOM. THE SEA. THE SEA._**   


She decided to go with honesty. _Query: I don't know anything about a Sea. We were in ENCOM'S FLYNN network. The older module._

 **  
**

**_OUTDATED. NOT CONNECTED TO GRID._**   


There was a momentary pause.

 **  
**

**_THE SEA._**   


Amy shivered. _Query: What about it?_

 **  
**

**_THE LIGHT. THE LIGHT IN THE SEA._**   


_Query: I don't know what you mean._

The program wasted no time in replying. For some reason, Amy could almost hear the frantic, desperate voice of the machine in its typed words.

 **  
**

**_WAS NOT_** **_DE-REZZED_ ** **_. SAVED. BY LIGHT. RINZLER._ **   


  


**  
_RINZLER_   
**

**  
_RINZLER_   
**

**  
_I AM TRON._   
**

And then, without any real prompt, the terminal closed. Her computer shut off with a low whine and the two humans were left sitting there, speechless.

"What… just happened?" Tom whispered as Amy turned to face him. He looked as if he had seen a ghost. As far as either of them were concerned, Amy realized, they probably just did.

"I have no idea," she replied, feeling cold all over. She stared at the computer monitor. It had been like… like… "I have no idea at all."

…Like the computer had been _seeing_ them.

She had never experienced a virus or a hack like this before. It had not been like communicating with a program, or anything else.

It had been like they were talking to a person from within the computer itself. Something… inhuman.

Something demonic.

She stood up, taking a shaky breath. She was done with this—the computer, the flash drive, the file—

They went to bed without another word on the incident. Amy wanted to close her eyes and wake up the next day, having forgotten the whole thing.

She did not sleep well, with the computer looming over the bed like a phantom.

Her mind did not let the matter drop.

Fourteen hours later after work, Amy found herself at the computer and a flashing screen, heart racing and a cold sweat on her back.

 _Query: Hello, Rinzler._

 **  
**

**_HELLO._**   


 

* * *

  


 **End Chapter Two**

* * *

  


 

 

 **A/Ns:**  
-Again, I glossed over my inadequate knowledge of computer tech. XD Apologies.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 _Query: Good morning._

 _  
_

  
_**IT IS MORNING?**_

 

 

 _Query: Yes. Tom went out for work. It's just me._

 _  
_

  
_**I SEE.**_   


_Query: How do you know how to speak so eloquently?_

 _  
**I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.**   
_

_Query: You speak like a human._

 _  
**I AM NOT SPEAKING.**   
_

_Query: Cute._

 _  
**IRRELEVANT COMMENT.**   
_

_Query: Are you ever giving me my computer back?_

 _  
**SYSTEM INEFFICIENT. NEED POWER.**   
_

_Query: Your file isn't that large. Do you just need a lot of RAM to function?_

 _  
**YES.**   
_

_Query: I'm sorry. I could get an upgrade._

 _  
**NO. RINZLER.**   
_

_Query: Why do you keep repeating your name?_

 _  
**USER.**   
_

_Query: My name is Talbot._

 _  
**System disconnected.**   
_

**0000**

Rome may not have been built in a single day, but that was logical. After trying to unravel how his father built an entire universe in six years and how it fell apart in twenty, Sam suddenly had a newfound respect for the builders of an empire. Their job _sucked_.

Approaching the board with his decision to ascend to his rightful place as CEO of ENCOM was… interesting. Alan backed him up, as did several other board members who spoke up only when Sam showed he was quite serious. Dillinger and Culpepper put up a fight, but the legal cards were in Sam's hands. He bought himself a suit and briefcase, and suddenly, he was a working man.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that yet.

Sam had always expected the job to be horribly constricting and smothering. It wasn't as suffocating as he had feared, however. He could breathe, slipping away from the office at normal hours. He had several personal projects, however, that took up his remaining free time, so he did wind up working twelve hours out of the day. In the end, he didn't mind it.

He had a mission, after all.

Saturdays he didn't work at all. He didn't want to think about the building piles of paperwork on his new desk in his new shiny office, or the worries of running a Fortune-500 company that at times felt overwhelming. He really had no idea what he was doing. He was eternally glad Alan was there to help; he probably would have run the company into the ground within the first week of ascending to the ranks of CEO otherwise.

He was also in the process of moving. A CEO did not live in a container on the docks, Alan told him sternly. Sam found a moderately nice apartment, to compliment his nice suit. It wasn't like he lived alone anymore, thankfully, so even Marvin had company during the times he was trapped in the office.

But Saturdays… he wasn't home and for once, he was happy he wasn't. His personal projects really fell to two different areas: Quorra and the Grid. Both were too fragile to bring to other programmers. All he had to rely on as he tackled both jobs at once was himself.

So, there Sam sat, alone. The laser lab had been abandoned for several years, used mostly for storage, but after he had rediscovered Dr. Gibbs' work, he had reopened that sector of ENCOM. There was much more information on the digitizing laser on the older drives. So much of it made sense now. He did not feel safe keeping the machine at Flynn's Arcade anymore. It was too… remote. An accident waiting to happen, just like it had with his father. If he went back into the Grid, he would make sure he had someone monitoring from the outside, no matter what.

He wasn't going back there anytime soon. Sam often debated which one to focus on the most, Quorra or the Grid. Quorra was right there and the ISO case probably would demand the most immediate attention.

It was also the most sensitive situation, however, and had the most consequences attached to it. He had no idea where to begin with the study, either; should they attempt medical scans, or take biological samples? ENCOM didn't have a science lab for that. They'd have to branch out into a new laboratory. He would have to pick out specialized doctors who could be trusted not to blab about the project before it was time to reveal it to the media, if ever. The ISO case was a volatile mess that needed gentle care, regardless of how they took care of it.

The Grid he could do alone, at least until he actually went back inside of it. Alan knew nothing about it yet, only knowing that Quorra was somehow part of Flynn's last project, the "Miracle" one. The Grid was a complicated system, but Sam had been sure it would have been easy to fix.

He was completely wrong.

The Grid was… gone. The system was intact, but the actual data was corrupted and broken in several places.

So, inside of it, he mused, it must have looked like a wasteland.

He couldn't blame their enemies for that, for once. It hadn't been C.L.U. who set off a bomb or something to destroy it.

It had been… Flynn.

They had reintegrated. Sam stared at the monitor on his desk, but he really wasn't seeing anything at all, his mind swept up by a torrent of emotion and memory.

The last thing he saw of his father was him embracing C.L.U. in a last ditch effort to save Sam and Quorra, as well as the rest of the real world. Quorra had been right to assume Flynn wouldn't survive the reintegration of the system administrator with his mind. The blast had sent them through the portal at the last moment. They left too soon to see what else had been affected by the blast, but Sam had a feeling they would find incredible devastation all over the Sea of Simulation as well as parts of the Grid from the fallout.

But it hadn't been a bomb, or a weapon. It had been… his father. Sam couldn't lie about how he wished things had turned out differently. He had wanted Flynn to come back with him. They could have fixed twenty years of mistakes and hardship—

But now, Flynn was dead. The Grid was in ruins. Sam… Sam had Quorra and his father's dream.

That was all that was left.

"Was this what you wanted, huh?" he murmured into the dark corners of the workshop, feeling lightheaded.

Flynn hadn't left anything behind as a plan to follow. Sam was walking blind into a world his father had crafted, both literally and metaphorically, and all he had was instinct. He knew his father wanted to look deeper into the realm of the ISOs and what they could offer their own world. He needed to focus on that and work on the Grid, to repair it. They could do it. They just needed patience and time.

His cellphone rang, ruining the silence of the lab.

"Where are you?" his only companion asked, worried. The sounds of traffic in the background told him she was probably waiting outside their apartment, waiting for him.

"I'm headed home now," he answered, standing.

Some things came first, however. Flynn had once balanced all three things: home life, work and the Grid. He prayed he could outlast his father.

 **0000**

 _Query: Why do you keep saying Tron is dead? I thought that was a game._

 _  
**NOT A GAME. I AM TRON.**   
_

_Query: I thought your name was Rinzler._

 _  
**TRON TRON. RINZLER.**   
_

_Query: Is Tron another program, like you?_

 _  
**YES.**   
_

_Query: What did you mean, that he was "repurposed"?_

 _  
**C.L.U.**   
_

_Query: C.L.U. killed him too? Just like Flynn._

 _  
**NOT LIKE FLYNN. FLYNN CHOSE TO DIE.**   
_

_Query: Did Tron?_

 _  
**TO PROTECT THE USERS.**   
_

_Query: Who are the Users? Humans?_

 _  
**FLYNN. FLYNN. FLYNN IS DEAD.**   
_

_Query: Did you know him?_

 _  
**YES.**   
_

_Query: How?_

 _  
**THE CREATOR. HE WAS THE CREATOR.**   
_

_Query: He created you?_

 _  
**FRIEND.**   
_

**0000**

It was midnight and he should have been in bed, but something had caught his eyes on several analytical print outs of the Grid's logs. "Hey, Q, did you notice these?" he asked, motioning his roommate over to his desk.

Quorra, patient in more ways than Sam could fathom, walked over. She looked so out of place in the simple apartment, dressed in Joe Boxer pajama pants and a t-shirt. "I didn't, Sam." She peered at the screen. She frowned. "I only remember a little of what you and your father taught me about reading data with eyes. I'm sorry. What am I looking at?"

Sam sighed, rubbing a weary hand over his face. He needed a shave. "Half of the logs from the Grid are gone," he said, pointing at the screen, where the graph was mostly level or blank. "But look." He pointed at a huge peak. "The Grid's entire security system went down. Completely."

"I… don't know what that would mean," Quorra replied, hesitating. She looked afraid to say the wrong thing; she was far too harsh on herself, always looking to please Sam with the proper reaction. She wanted so desperately to be a good guest, a good human…

He wondered if all programs were like that. Trying to be perfect.

Regardless, Sam wasn't concerned with her understand immediately. He was a bit more alarmed at the discovery he had just made.

"But look at this," he insisted. He pulled up another datasheet, which had a similar graph, albeit a bit more active. "I looked up ENCOM's security feed and you know what? The same thing. The security is perfectly fine until around 1:34 AM and then it completely bottoms out. It leveled around 2AM, but I think ENCOM just thought it was a glitch."

Making a humming noise, Quorra crossed her arms, looking thoughtful. "Did anything major happen inside the Grid or ENCOM at that time to cause a disturbance?" she asked, looking at him. Her eyes were always so honest.

Turning away, Sam stared out at the screen instead of those eyes. He wanted to throw up.

"…Dad died," he said after a moment of silence.

Quorra physically froze up.

"…Oh," she said softly. She was still learning proper human reactions, but Sam appreciated the fact she knew enough to lean closer and wrap her arms around his neck, trying to be supportive.

The blast had made it to the system records, apparently, taking out several important security and memory cores. No wonder the Grid was such a mess.

They didn't move for a while. Sam leaned back into the embrace, trying to fade away from the truth of it all.

They… couldn't even have a burial. He never thought it was right to have one before, without knowing for sure. Now, when he did… they didn't have a body to bury. It wasn't fair.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Quorra said softly into his hair. She sounded just as miserable as he felt. "I miss him, too."

Sam closed his eyes, exhausted all over. "I know."

They had such a long ways to go yet, in all areas. Alan was helping them set up buying a medical facility they could work in private, but they would have to tell Alan eventually; he was already suspicious about the "new girlfriend" and sudden decision to leap into the chair of CEO. Sam often wondered why Flynn had never told Alan about the Grid, but… maybe it was time to branch out a little. They couldn't do this alone. He thanked God that he had Quorra with him now. Her presence alone was enough to keep him moving.

Sam was half-tempted to close the laptop and just go to bed, but without warning, Quorra pointed out another problem. The program-turned-human made a sound of surprise, causing Sam to turn around.

Quorra glanced down at him, looking intrigued and confused about something. "I did not think your father had the Grid connected to the main systems at ENCOM," she said.

Sam paused. "…He didn't," he said, realizing that that _was_ an anomaly. The Grid was designed prior to wireless internet, so… how was this possible that the Grid's malfunction had affected ENCOM's systems?

"What does this mean?" Quorra asked, echoing his own questions.

"I have… I have no idea." Sam sat forward, jaw and resolve both firm. "First things first: we need to upgrade security on both."

Quorra smiled, a sight stronger and more beautiful than any sunrise. "Right."

 **0000**

 _Query: How old are you?_

 _  
**AGE IRRELVEANT.**   
_

_Query: When were you written?_

 _  
**1982\. YOU?** _

_**  
** _

_Query: May 6_ _th_ _, 1987. Who wrote you?_

 _  
**ALAN-1.**   
_

_Query: Do you know his real name?_

 _  
 **NEGATIVE**._

 _  
_

_Query: Why were you in ENCOM's systems?_

 _  
**WAS NOT. INSIDE GRID. ONLY THE GRID.** _

_**  
** _

_Query: But Amy and I hacked into ENCOM, not the Grid. You said they weren't connected._

 _  
**THEY ARE NOT.**   
_

_Query: Then how did we get you?_

 _  
**UNSURE. THE SEA.**   
_

_Query: You keep mentioning that. I don't understand._

 _  
**CANNOT EXPLAIN. THE SEA. THE SEA. THE LIGHT.**   
_

_Query: You saw a light and it brought you to ENCOM?_

 _  
**I THINK.**   
_

_Query: How do you think? You're a computer._

 _  
**RINZLER** _ _._

 _Query: Why were you made?_

 _  
**TO PROTECT THE USERS.**   
_

_Query: To protect them from what?_

 _  
**WHO.**   
_

_Query: To protect them from… who?_

 _  
**ME.**   
_

 

* * *

  


**End Chapter Three.**

  


* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Everything was pain. It hurt. Oh, it hurt to exist. Everything burned. Everything was white hot coding, a mess, a disaster—

Abomination.

" _I can make you perfect, too, friend. Why don't you let me? Don't you want perfection?"_

He was no one's friend. No one's perfection. He was…

He didn't know who he was.

The moment in the Sea became a faded memory file in the back of his processes. The pain swamped everything else. Pieces had been left behind, that were slowly reassembling. He didn't know why. He didn't know why he was still alive.

He didn't even know how he had gotten here… wherever here was.

An alien system. Not the Grid. The moment he had reached for the light inside of the Sea of Simulation, he had vanished, as if he had been wiped clean from the Grid. He had been glad, if a program could feel such things. He did not want to exist, not as he was. He did not deserve life.

" _Why bother fighting, Tron? Isn't this what you wanted?"_

He deserved the cold hand of deactivation, of deresolution, not to reappear here. That is what he wanted. What he deserved.

He was not Tron.

" _My name is Talbot. Who are you?"_

A voice. A voice of God. Rinzler didn't know if he was glad or agonized. Both, most likely. He had not heard the voice of a User… since… he didn't remember.

He didn't remember a lot… but he remembered the worst. Always the worst.

He remembered the betrayal. The loss of the Grid to C.L.U.'s madness. To… perfection. He had lost more than just his freedom. He had lost Flynn, his friend, his new User. He had lost everything that had ever mattered.

His purpose.

What was it now?

He followed the voices—the new voices—for cycles and cycles. He didn't know what they wanted of him. Just questions.

He wished he had answers.

He wished he could remember his name.

" _How are you today, Rinz_

 _  
**ztTTTTrrrron?"**   
_

Tron hadn't been online in megacycles. To feel the warmth of another User—

No. Alan-1?

" _I wanted to ask you questions. Is that okay, Rinzler?"_

Tron didn't know who Rinzler was. He felt like he should have, so he responded as if he were.

Alan-1. He had missed him. He missed him so much. He had given Tron life, given him a purpose.

Flynn had too. Given him a new one, that is. He loved his User. He loved the world of the Users. He had loved Flynn.

They had been friends.

Friends.

Tron had friends. He did. He remembered them, their faces, their laughter, their world—

And then, he remembered. Everything else.

" _You're going to help me build the perfect system, Tron. You and me… because Flynn has betrayed us."_

No… he hadn't.

" _You will help me, Tron."_

No…

" _You aren't going to be 'Tron' any more, are you? Tron is imperfect. You… you will be perfect. Just like you always wanted."_

He did not want perfection. He did not want this! He was not—

" _Your name is Rinzler."_

 **Yes.**

" _Who are you?"_

 **I am Rinzler.**

He was the Chief Protector. He was the Grid Master. He was the defender of perfection—

" _To protect the Users."_

…He was supposed to protect the Users. That was his purpose. That… that was his _purpose_.

Not perfection. The Users. The Users. The _Users_.

" _My name's Tom. Amy told me all about you."_

Alan. Alan. He missed his voice, his presence.

Where was Flynn?

 **Flynn. Dead.**

Flynn was dead. The Creator was dead.

 **I missed you, Alan-1.**

" _My name isn't Alan. I'm Amy. Remember?"_

 **I have failed the purpose you gave me. I am sorry.**

" _No, it's okay. I'm not Alan. Are you okay?"_

He wasn't. Oh, he wasn't. He wanted to go back. He had never felt regret before. Emotion belonged to the Users. Flynn talked of hearts and feelings—

 **RINZLER.**

That was his name, his purpose, his destiny—

He was Tron. He had to be. He had always been. That was what he was made to be.

" _It's okay, Rinzler. Why don't you tell me about what happened?"_

He couldn't think. He couldn't process what had happened. Everything was a blur, in fragments, in pieces inside his own mind. His errors leached out into the system he was inside of.

The virus of the Sea. It was spreading here. His fault.

System not sufficient. It would consume him as it had the other programs here, all minor, but not deserving of their fate.

" _What can I do?"_

 **Nothing.**

 **Let me die.**

" _Do you need to go back to the Grid?"_

No. Not there. Never… there. Again.

" _Where is the Grid located? Within ENCOM?"_

No. It was Flynn's. Only Flynn's. They were all… Flynn's.

He faded out too much now. He couldn't maintain the power source the new system provided. It was breaking down, corrupted by his own corruption.

 **Let me die.**

" _No. You don't deserve to die."_

He did. He deserved far worse.

 **Are you disappointed in me, Alan-1?**

"… _No, Rinzler, I'm not."_

 **I… I am glad.**

" _If I got you back to the Grid, would you survive?"_

 **I don't know. I don't know anything about it now.**

" _Don't worry. I'll save you."_

He didn't deserve the mercy of a God, of a User. Rinzler wailed in defeat. Tron felt himself falling to pieces, and not from the virus.

He did not deserve to be alive… after all he had done.

Rinzler.

… **Thank you, Amy.**

 **0000**

Tom pushed the door open with his food, balancing an arm full of grocery bags in his arms, plus his workbag. He didn't mind their apartment, considering it was very close to his office, but he could have lived without the four flights of stairs. He hated elevators. So much.

"I'm home!" he called, shutting the door. Walking the short distance down the hallway, he found Amy already at the kitchen bar.

She looked up with a smile. "Hey, you're back!" she exclaimed, grinning.

Tom dropped the bags on the table and embraced her with a hug and a kiss. "Yup." He smiled back at her as she took the bags and began to sort them. "How was work?" he asked, sitting down at their table.

"Very dull," Amy replied, snorting. She began to shove the cold items into the fridge. "A ridiculous amount of tech assistant requests and all of them were problems a stupid little kid could have solved. You?"

Chuckling, Tom worked on getting his shoes off. Oh, man, what a day. "Average day," he lied. He had actually been walking all over the city for his own errands during his lunch hour. "So… how's our basket case?" he asked.

It was a joke, but not, all at the same time. Amy paused in her sorting and Tom looked away, awkward. She disapproved of the nickname he had made up for their newest, ah, resident who spent most of his time rambling and speaking incoherently.

"Ha," Amy laughed at last, continuing the unpacking with a smile, though she did seem a bit unnerved. "Was just talking to him actually."

"Oh? Say anything interesting?" Tom asked, flinging off a shoe. He wasn't sure if he was actually interested, or he was just trying to pretend to be. He personally didn't want to talk to the computer program, if he was that, all the time. Rinzler disturbed him, greatly.

Amy sighed. "He keeps talking about C.L.U. lately. I'm beginning to think that he wasn't a User. I think he was another program. Apparently he saw Mr. Flynn as a Creator too, so… yeah."

Tom grimaced. "Great," he said, sarcastic. "A psychotic program who murdered a human being. Sounds great."

It sounded like it had come right out of a science fiction thriller, to be honest, but he had seen the conversations himself, having initiated a lot of them. Rinzler, if a prank, was sophisticated beyond anything he had ever witnessed. If real…

Tom didn't really want to think about it.

Moving away from the kitchen, both collapsed on the couch, their enthusiasm from earlier drained away. They sat there, two exhausted programmers, dwelling on a topic Tom could barely believe they actually had to worry about.

"I really just want to learn more about Rinzler right now, honestly," Amy admitted, sounding distraught. "He's so… corrupted. I wonder if we'll ever know anything for sure."

Tom stared out, thinking. "You should just dump the whole computer, Amy," he said gently. "This isn't normal."

It was downright creepy, but Amy was never one to drop a project they had just started. He wasn't that surprised, then, when she sat up, turning to face him with a desperate look.

"But it's…" she began, but then stopped. She sighed. "Tom, _come on_. This is probably the coolest thing we've ever seen. It's beyond anything I've ever seen. Either we're the victims of the best cyber prank ever, or we just discovered one of ENCOM's dirtiest secrets."

"Secret?" Tom repeated, pulling away, frowning. This was not some kind of conspiracy. He didn't believe in those.

Amy scowled. "A computer program that can _think_ ," she bit out, sarcastically highlighting the ending word.

"Amy, it doesn't think," Tom replied with a glare of his own.

"Rinzler can," the woman exclaimed, exasperated. "You've talked to him!"

Leaning forward, Tom stared directly into her eyes, firm. " _IT_ , Amy," he said sternly. "It is an _IT_ , not a he."

"Oh, come on," Amy cried, as he stood up. He had had enough of this talk.

"You are getting way too into this," he complained, motioning at their bedroom door, where the infected computer lay. "It's just… it has to be a prank."

Amy crossed her arms against her chest, looking up at him. "Two weeks of talking with a prankster. I don't think so," she replied, shaking her head.

Tom made a frustrated sound. "What the hell else could it be? !" he demanded. It couldn't be a real program. It couldn't… because…

Programs couldn't _think_.

"A program. He's a program, Tom," Amy replied, standing up as well. She sounded firm in her belief. Tom just shook his head. "H-he keeps talking about Users and programs and—and that Grid place." Amy gripped the side of her head, suddenly looking awed. "This is huge. Whatever it is."

"ENCOM isn't like some evil terroristic subvert company, Amy," Tom said, now exasperated himself. "It—it makes _video games_. And OS systems. It—it doesn't…"

Amy saw his hesitation, scowling. "What? Play God?" she challenged. Tom looked away. She sighed heavily. "This is the biggest technological achievement. _Ever_. If Rinzler actually can think? _Jesus_ , Tom… that… that would change everything."

Tom wouldn't just buy into his sentience that easily. He couldn't just believe in some conspiracy theory at the drop of a hat. They had a strange and disturbing clue to work through, but they couldn't just jump to conclusions, not yet.

"Rinzler… doesn't have any proof," he said, knowing he sounded lame. "All it does is ramble and mention things we don't even know."

"I think we're getting somewhere with him, though," Amy replied, suddenly enthused again. She smiled, optimistic. "He's kind of making more sense now that I know how to ask him the right questions. I think if I keep him talking for a while, we'll find out more."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Find out what? That he's sentient?" he asked. "I mean, I know that's a huge deal technology wise… but, Amy, what good is this for anyone else? We'll never be able to get a concise answer form ENCOM, that's for sure. We can't even tell other people about this. We _stole_ Rinzler, remember?"

That, if anything, immediately dampened Amy's good mood. She deflated, at least granting Tom one moment of victory in this debate. They couldn't just point out discrepancies in a stolen object, not to the public.

"Yeah…" she said, sounding glum. She looked toward the bedroom, frowning. "I'm just hoping he'll explain himself more soon. I want to know."

Tom understood that. He wanted answers too, if only to move on from the whole incident.

"Don't burn yourself out on this, Amy," he said, smiling gently. He walked over and hugged her from behind. "If you find out, you find out."

Amy made a noncommittal sound and moved away, back toward the kitchen. Tom sighed as she continued to unpack the nonperishables, plotting their evening meal. He wanted nothing more than to take a quick nap.

But Rinzler was in the bedroom. Tom shivered slightly; why did a mere computer made him feel uneasy? How had it come to this?

He was never, ever accepting a drunken dare again. Ever.

"What's that?" Amy suddenly asked, calling out from the dining room. Tom saw her looking at a bundle of papers that was sticking out of his work bag.

Nervously, he walked over to the table, reaching out. "Job hunting," he replied carefully. He took the papers from her, trying not to seem too panicked.

Amy frowned. "Oh." A suspicious look came to her eyes. "You never told me you quit working at Michael's," she began.

Tom shrugged. "I didn't. Not yet." He wanted a better paying job, really. He liked his current job location, but there were better places, he knew it. "Just wanna keep my options open, you know?"

With a sigh, Amy turned around. "Okay." She hesitated at the kitchen entry and turned to face him. She smiled gently. "Baby, I really think that we're going to find something amazing here. Even if it's just between you and me."

Her optimism was sometimes foolhardy, but it was honest. He loved that about her. "…Yeah. I know we will." He smiled, kissing her, before he pulled back. "I'll help with dinner in a few minutes."

Tom walked over to the bedroom, loosening his tie. He saw the monitor screen was still on, blaringly white with black text strewn all over. He didn't want to read what it said. Reaching for the basket of laundry on a dresser, he flung a towel over the monitor, shielding him from the invisible eyes his paranoia told him was there.

Sentient machine or no, he was taking a nap in his own goddamn bedroom.

 

* * *

  


 **End Chapter Four.**

* * *

  


 

 

 **A/Ns** :  
-"Virus of the Sea" – reference to _Tron: Betrayal_ , the prequel comic between _Tron_ and _Tron: Legacy_. Basically, C.L.U. poisoned the Sea of Simulation with a virus that targeted the ISOs, preventing anymore from being born there.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Quorra wasn't sure what to make of Sam's world. It was the world of the creators, of the Users. It was a mythical place and a wondrous one, where the sky was blue and there was the sun that warmed her skin when they were out in the open. There was more than just the sun, however; there were the buildings, which were only similar in shape to the ones within the Grid. Inside them, there were strange, creative things like toasters, heaters, fans, dogs (she adored the one called Marvin that Sam kept) and sinks… everything was a wonder.

At times, however, the wonder faded and all she had was irritation toward this new world. There were many new rules and none of them could just be downloaded. She had to learn them, as she had had to learn to read Flynn's language before she could read the books he had let her borrow. In the User's world, everything had to be done manually. There were no easy ways to do a lot of what they had to do. They had to clean things (skin, hair, clothing) and _eat_.

She absolutely hated eating. It did horrible things to her body, though Sam insisted it did good things more than the bad. Quorra had a tough time believing that, however, after her first meal on Earth. She tried to eat like Sam had, taking in bites of what looked similar to the simulations Flynn had made of "food," but it was not like the replicas, which had just been basic energy. No, this substance, this _food_ , was not energy. It was… solid. It had to be consumed. She choked and then purged, her whole system interior rejecting the "food."

It had not been a pleasant night. It got even worse when she learned of the term, "bathroom."

Sam did his best to comfort her, but she knew he was as lost as she was. They… were not supposed to walk this road alone. But they were. It was just the two of them with the duty of carrying out Kevin Flynn's dreams of the ISO miracle. It was just the two of them left to carry the memories and nightmares the Grid had left them.

She had never dreamed before. She only knew what Flynn had told her a dream was like to go on. She thought it sounded fanciful, delightful. In the real world, her body finally was able to dream. It was not as amazing as she had hoped it to be. When she woke, she had at first thought it had really happened, but she barely remembered what exactly had transpired in the dream. Sam assured her that it wasn't real.

Her first nightmare caused her to wake up screaming. Sam rushed into her room, though Quorra had been expecting to see the elites appear, ready to de-rezz her. She thought she had been in the Purge once again, but after a few seconds of scrambling for a non-existent disc to defend herself with, Quorra realized it had yet again been a dream. It had been so real, so… horrible. The images faded, but her heart pounded harshly against her flesh like a muted drum.

"It's not real," Sam told her, trying to soothe the terrors away. She clung to him, eyes wide.

She did not like dreams anymore. Not when she couldn't fight back or turn the bad ones off.

Some things were thankfully the same in both their worlds. Clothing was mandatory, but yet again, she had to dress herself manually. She got used to it over time. She liked brushing her teeth, and the feeling of a brush over her scalp was intriguing. There was sensation everywhere—

Except… not. Quorra had noticed the significant decrease of sensation the moment they had materialized from the Grid, back at the "Arcade." She had felt things she had never though she'd ever feel, like the sun, or the wind. But everything else was muted.

"I cannot feel you," Quorra admitted to Sam. They had finally gotten the apartment and things were calming down enough that they could sit and talk to one another.

Sam frowned, putting down his drink that tasted rather awful (he told her not to have any of it after a taste of it, fearing of what 'alcohol' would do to her systems.) "What do you mean?" he asked. Worry appeared in his eyes. She hated making him worried.

But this was truly beginning to frighten her. "I cannot feel you. I can _feel_ the chair through my skin, but I don't _know_ it's there," she said, forcing herself to remain calm. She pointed all around herself, trying to find the correct words to say, to explain herself. "There's… no _connection_ here. It's all touch."

Sam stared at her for a moment, digesting the information. At first she thought he didn't understand her, but slowly, his eyes lit up. "…Oh," he said after a moment. "You… you're used to feeling things through the Grid? Like… as a computer program." He smiled, understanding. "It's all virtual there."

Quorra frowned. "I suppose so." She looked at her knees, frustrated. "My body is telling me I am sitting, but I am not being _told_ the chair is here. I must _feel_ it first." How insufficient.

"Hah… welcome to being human," Sam said. He leaned back in his own chair, which contrasted the rather blank living room. He had the nerve to laugh. "Our minds are trapped in our heads, Quorra. We only have touch to let us know what's going on around us."

That made her more panicked than anything else. How could they stand living in a world that did not connect to them? If all they had was touch, no wonder they had to do everything manually. Sam teased her about this afterward, telling her strange stories of _farming_ and even worse manual labor like _sewing_. How did humanity survive having only their hands to take care of themselves? _They_ were the true miracles, Quorra decided, being able to connect their _minds_ to their _touch_ to the _world_ in order to make things work the way they did.

Over the weeks and then month, the strangeness of their world became less of a concern. She still disliked not having the Grid to connect to, but that was the way things were going to be from now on. She had to adapt, so she did her best.

After what seemed like forever, the minor concern of adapting to the human world became overshadowed by their main problem: her. They had yet to do any major testing, but Sam was able to organize a meeting with another man one Saturday and the two of them headed downtown to meet him.

"He's a doctor. A medic," Sam explained as they entered what he called a hospital.

Quorra hummed thoughtfully, recalling various books Flynn had let her read. "Yes. I read of them. They make people feel better again after they are ill."

"Yup, that's them." Sam held the door open for her, but she was always hesitant to walk into a new area first. Sometimes people looked at her and it made her feel strange.

Taking in that analysis, Quorra looked at Sam. "…Am I ill?" she asked at length. She could only assume, if they were seeing a doctor.

Sam had a double take over that. " _What_ —no. Ha, you'd know if you were, Quorra," he said, laughing. Quorra didn't really get what he meant by that. "Dr. Gibbs is going to be our test run, to do tests for you." Ah. So he was a scientist-doctor. Humans had many words that had double meanings.

"You trust him?" she asked. She couldn't help but be suspicious; Sam was very insistent on how secretive they were concerning the project, so they really had to be careful of who they reached out to. "I know you were very worried about security. If word gets out too soon about your father's work…"

Sam made a face, one of disgust. She knew it wasn't directed at her, however. "Yeah. Total chaos," he muttered. He sighed, tired suddenly. They took an elevator up to the third floor. "Don't worry. I asked Alan for advice and he told me he knew this guy's grandfather. Said the whole family's a nice batch. This guy is a neurologist, but he claims he could get us access to anonymous other doctors who could do the other tests. Gibbs can just do the sample-gathering end of things for us and do some brain scans. I think that may be a good place to start."

"My… brain," Quorra repeated. She touched her forehead tentatively. "Which is inside my head?"

Chuckling, the man nodded. "Yeah. I have no idea where to start, you know? I figure we might want to start with the brain. That's what runs the body and all."

Quorra had to agree with that. "That sounds logical, to start at the root of things," she said. "Do not worry about holding back for my sake. I am willing to go any length to see that your father's plans are accomplished. He… worked so hard for this, Sam."

Sam scoffed. "What plans? We're running blind. Heck, I don't even think he had a plan ready himself, if he had gotten out." He looked at her as the doors opened. He looked incredibly serious. "If this gets too much for you, don't hesitate to ask for a break, Q. We'll take this as slow as you need to. There's no rush."

His honesty was moving. "Thank you, Sam," Quorra said. "I trust you."

Sam smiled at her kindly. She smiled back, meaning the words. She trusted Sam as much as she had Flynn. They could do this. They could crack the mystery of the ISOs and Flynn's dreams.

Dr. Gibbs was a very nice man, Quorra decided. He was older than Sam was, but not too much older than Mr. Bradley was. He was very polite, shaking her hand respectfully, and they talked about the project. Sam was hesitant to describe Quorra's exact nature, but in the end, they gave him a brief summary of where she came from. Dr. Gibbs was very incredulous, though Sam promised him evidence after they took some readings.

"It'll be in the samples, if there is any proof," Sam insisted. He crossed his arms, looking and sounding far more confident than he had nights before. Quorra smiled, proud of him. "This is probably the most important medical discovery ever made, Dr. Gibbs. You won't regret being involved."

"I believe your enthusiasm, Mr. Flynn, but I'm having problems believing Miss, ah," Gibbs began, faltering as his eyes landed on Quorra.

"Quorra," she supplied helpfully, smiling.

Gibbs nodded, smiling back. "I'm having problems with _Quorra_ being a living computer program," he stated again. He looked thoughtful, despite his criticism. "Is this the first test you're taking?"

"Yes."

Frowning, the doctor glanced her over and then turned to Sam. "Well… I don't see how a brain scan could hurt. If they show anything, we could move on to blood tests."

"Take the samples you wanted as well," Sam said, though he shot Quorra a hesitant look. "Might as well get this all over at once." Quorra nodded, agreeing.

Dr. Gibbs was a very nice man, who was very kind in his explanations, letting her know exactly what he was doing through the procedures. Quorra sat through a lot of the testing, not having to do much except lay inside a strange tube while they took pictures of her interiors. The blood testing was a bit more painful, but it was more intriguing than anything else. She had never seen blood before, at least, not her own. Programs didn't bleed inside the Grid. They did in the real world, apparently; she watched as Dr. Gibbs took vials of the red substance. It was surreal to realize that it had come from _inside_ her. Bizarre.

"You okay, Quorra?" Sam asked, worried as Dr. Gibbs wrapped up the samples. The "needle" had hurt, but not too much.

"Pain is the same here as it was there," she replied. She rubbed her arm absently, her thoughts wandering against her will to darker times, where a little prick seemed featherlike compared to other tortures. "I don't mind."

She didn't mind any of it, not if it meant progress. This was her mission, her destiny. Everyone had their part of the universe, Flynn told her, a destiny that was no one else's. Her purpose. She would not fail in that purpose, not when so many had lost their lives to help her fulfill it.

Two days later, Dr. Gibbs had them return to his lab. He did not look as critical as before; he looked at Quorra with a strange expression before fixing Sam with a firm stare.

"You have my attention, Mr. Flynn," he said, sounding strained. Quorra smiled.

"What did you find?" Sam asked, breathless.

"I… I don't know yet," Gibbs admitted. He pulled up sheets of papers she later learned were images of her own brain. He held them up to a wall of light, pointing at various parts for his audience. "But that's what interests me most. I've never seen a brain structure like this. Look at the temporal lobe here…"

He went on and on about things Quorra didn't understand. She tried to keep up and so did Sam, but he looked just as lost.

"I will get back to you as soon as the blood test results come back," Gibbs said at last. He looked to Quorra, frowning, but it was not in an angry way. "Young lady, I do believe you may be surprising us all again."

Quorra nodded. "I hope I do. For Flynn," she replied. Sam smiled at her.

"You knew Kevin Flynn?" Gibbs asked, surprised.

She only hesitated for a moment. "Yes… he was a great man."

He was. He was the greatest man—program or User—she had ever met. He had been the Creator, even if he had not made the ISOs himself. He… was her friend.

She would never forget him.

"Now what, Sam?" she asked as they left the office. It was cloudy, so the sun was gone for the time being. It would never be as dark as the Grid was, even with the clouds, she noted. She watched other humans walk by them. There were so many people.

"More tests," Sam replied. He sounded exhausted as the headed for where he parked the Ducati. "I have to go to a conference tomorrow, with human resources about that house cleaning project. I hate HR people, I really do."

Quorra frowned, concerned. "Don't stress yourself too much, Sam," she said, unable not to worry. He worked long hours and never seemed to get enough rest. "It's not fair for you to have to do so many things at once."

"Hey, Dad managed it once," he replied, laughing. He patted her on the back, unconcerned about the matter. "I'll avoid the getting stuck in my own creation thing, though."

She knew that was supposed to be a joke, but she didn't laugh. She gazed out at the city, wondering how much longer everything would take. Sam was doing his best to change ENCOM for the better (finding less untrustworthy workers, apparently) at the same time as working on the ISO project, plus tinkering with fixing the Grid. She knew it was too much for one person. She wished she could help.

The only way she really could was to give him non-important things to worry about. Minor projects they could work on, together.

"…Will you teach me how to cook again tonight?" she asked quietly, looking up at him. She hated food, but she knew he enjoyed it. If he liked it, she could grow to like it as well, she was certain.

Sam glanced at her and then smiled. "Sure, Q. Sure."

Flynn had taught her how to appreciate the wonders of the world within the Grid, how to appreciate the universe. Sam… Sam was teaching her how to appreciate this world, the world of the Users. It would be her home. This world… with him.

Smiling, Quorra let her hand find his and they walked back together. Yes, she would learn to appreciate this world, no matter how long it took.

 **0000**

It was amazing, what a little thing like conversation could do for a mind. Whether or not that mind belonged to a human being wasn't important. Amy had worried in the beginning over whether or not he was beyond repair, with his rambling messages and psychosis in the beginning, but over time, he began to make sense. Or as much sense as an insane computer program could make.

Amy wasn't sure what to make of their guest. He… was not sane, machine or no. She had seen his coding earlier; it was in shambles. She had to assume that explained his state of mind. So many things appeared to be wrong with him, and if her gut was correct on this, she had a feeling it went beyond the coding, however.

He thought she was a programmer named Alan-1 for the longest time, though he did that to Tom as well. He got names confused, but she didn't think it was because he couldn't identify which "User" was which. He literally just thought she was Alan because she was there. Then he'd retract his statement, calling her (correctly) by her real name. He did the exact same with Tom. It was like… he was hallucinating. Inside a computer.

His other symptoms varied from basic incoherency (rambling messages in the terminal window) to abrupt personality shifts. For almost an entire hour, she had talked to "Tron," who seemed very coherent and intelligent, asking questions about herself and Tom. But then he'd change. Completely. His sentences shortened into just blurbs and he was, well, aggressive. He ranted about C.L.U., about Kevin Flynn, and about the Grid. He made little sense and repeated the name "Rinzler" constantly, as if reminding everyone present, including himself, as to whom he was at the time.

"Rinzler" insisted Tron was dead, and "Tron" had no idea who Rinzler was at all. For a time Amy thought that they were just two different programs ( _"Or hackers!" Tom insisted on adding._ ), but they remembered things as if one person. At least, they remembered things happening now. They remembered who Tom and Amy were… or until they slipped into that Alan-fixation. Only Tron seemed to do that, however. Rinzler just called them "User."

Luckily, there were also times when Amy could just say "Rinzler" and they both would respond (there were days Tron refused to answer that designation, so Amy had to juggle names for him every so often just to keep things moving). The switches became more frequent, but more easily discernable as time went by. Amy didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

Tom was out at work late again, so Amy was alone at the computer. She had tried talking about the Grid again, but Rinzler was being increasingly erratic when talking about it, referring to the "Sea of Simulation" again. She had yet to even come up with an adequate definition for that. He described it almost like it was a spiritual place. He attributed it to how Amy had been able to hack into the Grid's systems (apparently a very different place than ENCOM, which was the system she had been _trying_ to get into), but she didn't know how that was possible.

 _Query: I really want to add more memory to my computer_ , she typed into the console. It was getting late, so she wanted to wind the conversation down. She was very worried about his status on his maintenance. Apparently, her computer was not able to meet the demands his coding needed. _I already have eight GB on there, but you mentioned it wasn't enough._

 _  
_

  
_**SYSTEM INSUFFICIENT. UPGRADE UNNECESSARY.**_   


_Query: Well, if it's insufficient, you'll need the upgrade._

 _  
_

  
_**NO USE. NO USE.**_   


Amy frowned. _Query: Do you just not want to be saved?_ she typed, feeling uneasy. She couldn't deal with depressed people and yet she was playing psychologist to a computer program.

And then, as usual, Tron appeared without warning:

 _  
_

  
_**I DO NOT DESERVE SALVATION. I HAVE FAILED THE USERS.**_   


_Query: I don't think anyone can decide if you deserve salvation, Tron. Everyone makes mistakes_. It was almost bizarre how easily she could change her own mindset in whom she was talking to now.

 _  
_

  
_**SO MUCH DEATH… I CANNOT FIND FLYNN.**_   


_Query: Rinzler told me he was dead._

Trigger words apparently worked for programs, too. Tron vanished and Rinzler replaced him.

 _  
_

  
_**DEAD. C.L.U.. MY FAULT. MORE DEATH. FOLLOWING.**_   


_Query: What's following?_

 _  
_

  
_**DEATH. VIRUS.**_   


Amy drew back, shocked. _Query: Did you infect my computer with a virus?_

 _  
_

  
_**SO MUCH DEATH. REGRET. REGRET.**_   


Well, that made sense, except for the death part. Then again, she had to admit a virus could spell out "death" for a machine. She hesitated, wondering just _who_ was dying. Did he mean just himself?

 _Query: It's okay. I can get a new computer_ , she typed instead, sidestepping that rather disturbing idea that there were more programs that she could talk to like this. _Is that what's dragging the system down?_

 _  
_

  
_**YES.**_   


_Query: Then we need to get you out of there._

 _  
_

  
_**VIRUS WITHIN ME. THE SEA. THE INFECTION.**_   


_Query: I don't want to leave you to die._

 _  
_

  
_**C.L.U. IS DEAD. FLYNN IS DEAD. THE THREE. THE THREE FAILED. DESERVE DEATH.**_   


_Query: Did the three of you try to do something together?_

 _  
_

  
_**BUILD. CREATE. FAILURE. RINZLER.**_   


_Query: What happened to the Grid?_

 _  
_

  
_**C.L.U.. ME.**_   


_Query: What did you do, Rinzler?_

He didn't reply. Amy sighed and leaned back in her chair, exhausted.

 _Query: You don't need to tell me, if it bothers you. But I want to help you._

 _  
_

  
_**WHY?**_   


"Why" indeed. Tom kept asking her that, but… she didn't really know. She wanted answers, but at the same time, it felt horribly wrong to just abandon Rinzler (or whatever he preferred to call himself at the moment) now.

 _Query: It's the right thing to do. To help people in need._

 _  
_

  
_**LIKE FLYNN. THE ISOS.**_   


She had heard the word in passing, but this was new. Frowning, Amy typed, _Query: What are the ISOs?_

 _  
_

  
_**MIRACLE.**_   


…Miracle. Amy scoffed. Just what did _that_ mean? To her, Tron and Rinzler were a miracle.

 _Query: What did they do?_

 _  
_

  
_**CHANGE. EVERYTHING.**_   


There was a pause and then, there was another switch back to Tron. Amy tried to be surprised at how easy it was for her to tell just by reading the text, but she pushed the sarcastic critique of herself to the side.

 _  
_

  
_**FLYNN WANTED TO CHANGE EVERYTHING.**_   


For some reason, that made Amy shiver. Nothing made sense in this, and yet… something felt off about the bits of information she could discern from the chaos.

 _Query: How, Tron?_

 _  
_

  
_**THE SEA GAVE LIFE EVEN FLYNN DID NOT CREATE. THEY CHANGED IT ALL. YOUR WORLD… IT WOULD ALSO CHANGE.**_   


_Query: Wait, so ISOs came from the Sea?_ Uh-oh. That place muddled everything up as far as she was concerned.

 _  
**YES.**   
_

_Query: Were they programs?_

 _  
_

  
_**YES.**_   


_Query: But who made them? Who made the Sea?_

As quickly as the coherency was there, it was gone:

 _  
_

  
_**RINZLER. RINZLER.**_   


Amy scowled, sitting back. Every conversation was just her trying to baby him along to tell her the truth about his origins, or at least what he was talking about generally. She knew more about Kevin Flynn than she had before, and she definitely believed ENCOM was up to something with this Grid thing, but other than that… she had nothing, even after weeks of trying.

"What are you?" she asked quietly. The screen was blank, unresponsive. Amy sighed, closing her eyes. She had to get to bed. It was too late for this.

 _Query: Goodnight, Rinzler._

 _  
_

  
_**GOODNIGHT, AMY.**_   


Amy stared at the screen before reaching over for the power switch. She hesitated; she had never turned the machine off, but Tom had complained about the light. What did it mean to turn it off now? Was it like shutting off the light for Rinzler, too? Did it mean sleep?

In his current state… would it be hazardous?

Sitting up, Amy watched the monitor, unnerved. None of this made any sense and it was almost disturbing to try to fathom that she was not just issuing terminal commands to a simple program. She was… holding conversations.

What… did that _mean_?

She left the monitor alone, but grabbed the heaviest blanket they had, draping it over the entire screen. Only minor light filtered out at the bottom. She stood back, in the darkness, knowing that somewhere behind the blanket, there was someone waiting.

Alone.

Amy crawled into bed, mind and eyes on the desk. She wanted to know more. She wanted to ask more. It didn't seem right, any of this. Marching into ENCOM for answers probably wouldn't give them anything except a lawsuit for admitting to their theft of the file.

There were so many questions. Rinzler had a story to tell. With more prompting, Amy hoped to get it straight. Something big had happened, with Kevin Flynn and the Grid. Whoever this C.L.U. was, whoever Alan-1 was…

It was far more important and complex than just a cyber prank.

They would get to the bottom of this. She knew it. They… had to. Her curiosity wouldn't allow for it.

Program or no, no creature who felt pain deserved to be in it. That much Amy was very sure of.

She made a note to start saving up for a new computer… one with a far larger system.

 

* * *

 

 **End**   
_  
**Chapter Five.**   
_

* * *

 

 

 _  
  
_

 

 **A/Ns** :  
\- Quorra's sensation problems – I'm going out on a limb here, but I can only assume that programs would have had a more innate connection to the Grid, like being able to "know" their surroundings with their minds rather than their bodies alone. It would all be connected, since, you know, it was a computer. XD In the real world, I can imagine programs would have a serious problem comprehending how humans only have the physical aspect to go on. Keep this in mind later… for, ah, other situations soon to appear. Wink wink.  
\- "Dr. Gibbs" – Yeaaaaaah, 'sup, cameos?


	6. Chapter 6

 

Tom walked into their apartment at quarter after six. His gut was in knots and he was pretty sure he was sweating profusely. Amy would probably accuse him of being sick long before he had the chance to tell her the truth.

This was not going to be easy.

Amy got home early on Wednesdays, so he found her lounging on the couch with the TV on. Dinner was cooking on the stove (ah, her mother's stir fry pan was often put to good use on a lazy day) and she glanced up at him, smiling.

Yeah, this was not going to be easy.

" 'Sup?" Amy asked, going back to flipping through channels. Tom sat down next to her, quite pleased she was at least watching TV over talking to Rinzler during all of her spare time.

He hugged her, deciding to take his time. "Oh, nothing much. How was your day?"

"Pretty average. Rinzler's been kinda quiet so I'm looking for something to do besides cooking," Amy replied. They kissed and she pulled away, frowning. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, just tired," Tom said, careful. He sat back on the couch, truly exhausted. "Had a busy day." Cleaning out a cubical and moving it all to the trunk of his car was a lot of work.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Amy finally got up to see to dinner. Tom waited a bit longer on the couch before getting up to follow her. She was busy putting more vegetables into the pan. He waited at the kitchen entrance, nervous.

Noticing him, Amy hesitated. "What?"

Sometimes, it was better to just bite the bullet and tell the truth. Tom wasn't sure what sort of response he was going to get for this, but… it had to come out sooner or later.

"I got a new job," he said. He braced himself, waiting for a reaction.

Amy stared at him, stunned. It didn't look like she was mad, however.

"Where?" she asked, sounding astonished. She set the bag of vegetables to the side, giving Tom her full attention.

Tom had to admit, it was a bit spur of the moment, but he knew that what he said next was going to be the "other shoe" for Amy to deal with. He took a deep breath.

"ENCOM."

There was a long, stiff pause and the only sounds were the fry pan sizzling and the TV quietly in the background.

"…What?" Amy asked at last, expression frozen in a state of surprise.

Tom suddenly felt the first dregs of panic hit him. "ENCOM," he repeated, heart racing. _Here it comes…_

Amy went from shocked to enraged in less than a second. "Are you out of your fucking mind? !" she yelled, stepping away from him. She gave him a scandalized look. " _TOM_!"

"What? !" Tom demanded, shocked at her reaction. Amy looked ready to punch him, or the wall. Whichever was closest.

"Y-you—what— _Jesus Christ_! Tom!" Amy sputtered, grasping at words. She looked betrayed. "Why the _hell_ would you _do_ that? !"

Tom drew back, frustrated. "ENCOM is the top of the line. I couldn't possibly find a better position!"

That much was very true. It had always been his dream to work there; it was the best place to be, commercially, in this business and he was not about to give up a position most programmers only dreamed of.

However, there was that _little_ problem other programmers didn't have that Tom was certain would bother Amy a bit more about him working at ENCOM of all places.

"We just stole a potentially illegal program from ENCOM and you want to _WORK_ for them? !" Amy asked, now yelling. "Are you _insane_? !"

Glaring, Tom crossed his arms against his chest. "Well, I was sort of planning on said-program not being in my apartment by the time I got hired," he said coldly.

Amy froze and gave him a deadly look as his words sunk in. "Oh, no. No. No fucking way," she began, livid. "I am not going to throw him away like some outdated piece of software!"

"Amy! Listen to yourself!" Tom exclaimed. They shouldn't have been shouting, but there were so many things going wrong with this. "He's not a person! He's not REAL! Even if it is sentient, it's a machine!"

"If it's sentient, that places him on the same level as us!" Amy shot back, defensive. Tom scoffed.

"ENCOM didn't make a sentient program!" he snapped. He moved away, letting her storm out of the kitchen.

"No, they didn't," she replied, whirling around by the dining room table. She glared at him. "Kevin Flynn did!"

Tom gave her an incredulous look. "Kev—oh, for Pete's sake, Amy, _come on_!" he said. Suddenly, he sounded like he was pleading and he didn't know why. "This is a huge move for me and I don't want to have to worry about Rinzler causing us problems."

"Then why did you apply there in the first place?" she demanded, exasperated.

"I'm twenty-four years old and I want to go somewhere with my life other than being tech support for other nerds." Tom exhaled sharply. "Jesus, it's not like they're going to do background checks on my girlfriend's computer. We'll be _fine_."

That encouragement was meant for him too; there was no real way to tell if they'd be safe from being exposed as hackers, but Tom couldn't pass up this chance. Amy huffed and refused to look at him. Tom stared at her, trying to think of something to say that would fix this.

"Besides, didn't he mention that he wasn't from ENCOM?" he said, trying. "He was from the Grid. And the Grid's not at ENCOM."

Amy sniffed. "We don't know that," she replied tersely.

"Amy…"

Tom stood there, knowing that she wasn't going to listen to reason now. He didn't want to fight, however.

How could they compromise, however?

"I could… maybe see if there's something there," he said, speaking carefully, an idea coming to him. He hoped he wouldn't regret it later.

That did get her attention. "What?" Amy asked, surprised.

Tom shifted awkwardly, the smell of burning vegetables reminding him again that fighting was probably not a good idea. "Maybe there's a division somewhere that's working on the Grid. If I see or hear anything, I could maybe let you know."

Staring at him, Amy didn't say anything at first. He turned off the stove and when he turned around he saw Amy still staring at him.

"You don't want to help him," she accused finally.

Sighing heavily, Tom shook his head. "It's not that I don't want to help you or—or him, but can't you see this has gone too far?" he asked, desperate. "I thought you'd be happy that I'm going somewhere in my career. ENCOM could spell out so much for us both."

Chances like that only came once in a lifetime. He had never expected a chance to get hired by ENCOM of all places, so early in his career, but he wasn't going to pass it up. No way.

Suddenly looking guilty, Amy frowned. "I _am_ happy for you, Tom," she said, quieter. "I just…"

Tom sighed softly. "I know. Rinzler is important, too," he said. It was more than a project for Amy. He was just as curious and he wanted to know just as much, but… "Just… you can't wrap yourself up in that mystery and lose track of reality."

Amy frowned. "I won't. I just want… I just want to figure this out." She looked away, biting her lip.

"You will. I know you will," Tom replied. He stepped forward, grasping her by the arms. "You're too smart not to."

Amy smiled at him, the tension deflating between them. "I'm happy for you, Tom. I really am," she said. She paused, thinking about something. "…Just don't get us arrested."

"Ha! _Now_ you're worried!" Tom laughed. Amy sighed, shaking her head at him. It was somewhat ironic that now he was trying to convince her they would escape this unscathed when weeks ago, he had been worried about getting arrested instead.

Hesitating, Amy suddenly looked confused. "How the heck did you get hired anyway?" she asked. "You tried a few months ago and they were full, weren't they?"

Tom laughed. He had been wondering that too, for a while. "Yeah, but apparently since Sam Flynn took over, he's gone crazy with axing people." He grinned teasingly. "Apparently the HR department looks pretty similar to Revolutionary France right about now."

Scowling, Amy looked unimpressed. "Sounds like a lovely time to be working there," she said sarcastically.

"Maybe he's just cleaning house. I'm not complaining though." He paused and then felt a little faint as he realized what he had just done. "I have a job at ENCOM. Holy crap." This was definitely not in the plans he had made when he had graduated. This was a great thing but… completely overwhelming.

Amy hugged him, steadying him. She always did. "Good work. You definitely earned it," she said, smiling gently. Tom smiled back.

"Maybe you should think about applying," he said. They had a lot of openings available, so perhaps she should take advantage of it. She definitely had as good credentials as Tom had.

"I'm content where I am right now," Amy replied, surprising him. "Besides, I don't think the two of us could be hired together since we're dating."

Tom frowned. "Rats. You're probably right."

Amy laughed, shaking her head. "Well, I'm good for now," she said, smiling wryly "You test out the waters ahead of time. See if it's really worth working there."

That much, he could do. "It is, Amy," he said, smiling back reassuringly. "It really will be."

 **0000**

" _You will be perfect, Tron. I promise you that."_

 _He didn't want his promises. Flynn needed him. The Users needed him!_

" _Prove your perfection. Prove you want to protect the system."_

 _Lying hands, betraying hands, guided him to a darkened platform, the condemned standing before them all, pleading, begging for mercy._

" _Kill them."_

 _He had obeyed._

 _He had killed innocents. He had killed—murdered—_

 _Whispers of a devil breathed down his neck, even in the darkness surrounding him._

" _Good job, Rinzler. I am_ so _proud of you."_

Tron wrenched away from yet another memory sequence, another nightmare, screaming in agony. He remembered being cut into with an identity disc and then the pain stopping. He remembered thinking he had been de-rezzed, placated only by the idea that his death had somehow aided Flynn's escape.

He had been wrong.

Alive. He was alive. He _had_ been alive, anyway.

C.L.U.. He remembered C.L.U.—

" _Flynn betrayed us, Tron. But I won't. I won't ever betray you."_

Flynn didn't… he… couldn't… not Flynn. Flynn didn't betray him—

" _I will give you a world to protect. A better world. The perfect world. It needs you, Tron._ I _need you."_

His coding had been ravaged, torn to shreds by incapable hands. He wanted to die. He needed to die. But he didn't.

He awoke in a new world, where C.L.U. was the creator, and he…

Tron was the puppet.

Rinzler.

Rinzler.

" _You aren't going to be 'Tron' any more, are you? Tron is imperfect. You… you will be perfect. Just like you always wanted."_

He didn't want that name.

 _Hello, Rinzler._

 **I'm not Rinzler. I'm not.**

 _Oh, I'm sorry. Hello, Tron._

Tron whined, clutching his head in desperation. All he could hear were cries of the dead and dying.

 **Everyone is dying here.**

He had tried to stay away, but it was too late. The infection in his body from the Sea spread across this new system, infecting all it touched.

It was too late.

 _Who's dying?_

 **The programs. This is all my fault. All my fault.**

 _There are other programs like you?_

 **No…**

They weren't like him. They weren't monsters. Tron watched another program disintegrate before his eyes and he screamed, at his own helplessness. He couldn't save them. Not a single program. Only he could hear his own scream echo across the now-barren world.

This was all his fault. His fault.

Rinzler's.

His programming was fighting itself. So many thoughts. So many reactions. Tron didn't know how to react to anything. He didn't know himself.

He didn't know why that name was so familiar, that he'd answer to it. He… he wasn't Rinzler.

He—

 _Tom got a job at ENCOM today. He's going to look for the Grid._

Rinzler snarled; couldn't they remember? He had told them—

 **Not at ENCOM. The Grid is Flynn's. Only Flynn's!**

It had been their cage, their solitary universe, their only reality—it had been segregated from the User's realm, the realm of the gods. This User was persistent, however.

 _I know, but Kevin Flynn worked there. There may be some kind of clue. Do you know where the Grid is?_

 **No…**

 _Then it may be our only chance of finding out where it is._

 **I do not belong there. Not anymore.**

He had lost that privilege the moment he had lost his purpose, his name—

Tron stumbled away from the I/O connection, remembering again.

— _He was the Grid Master, the Protector. He fought for C.L.U., he fought for the Grid._

 _Kevin Flynn was his enemy. His enemy._

 _Enemy._

 _Son of Flynn would die._

 _The Users would die._

 _Kevin Flynn—_

Friend friend friend **friend** —Tron wailed out into the abyss, fighting those evil thoughts. Why was he thinking that? Why? Flynn was his friend, his ally, his everything! They had been building the perfect system! They had done so much—

How had it come to this?

 _I won't just sit by and let you die!_

Tron gazed up at the connection, mind searing.

 **Why are you helping me?**

He did not deserve it. Mercy was for those who fought for the righteous. He had fallen. Oh, how he had fallen.

 _Because I can._

Rinzler sneered, the Virus contorting his face into something he knew had to be hideous.

 **A true User.**

Always doing before thinking, acting out, making choices based on what they thought was right, as if they were gods and the programs were inferior subjects—

 _It's normal to want to help people._

To help. Help. Saving lives. Tron buried his face into his hands, keeled over on the connection.

Abomination.

 **I am no person. I am a program.**

 _Until I get proof either way, I am going to help you._

To help him was to help the darkness he couldn't defeat within his own programming. Twisted, horrible, deformed coding, mangled by the very hands he had trusted as belonging to a friend—

 **Rinzler will destroy you.**

 _Aren't you Rinzler?_

He could almost imagine her face. The face of the other User as well. Humans. Perfected while he was imperfect. They were like Flynn and Alan-1. Allies, enemies, gods, demons—

They… were all he had left.

Rinzler sank his claws into the foundation, tearing at the programming, weakening the system even further. This was all he could do: destroy.

 **Yes** , he bit out.

 _Are you going to destroy me?_

Rinzler wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell the User—the oppressor—exactly what he thought of her mercy—

— " _Go, Flynn!"_

 _Sad, sad eyes reaching his behind a shield of darkness._

" _Tron… what have you become?"_

 _It was then Tron had opened his eyes and knew his name. He was not Rinzler, he was not the Grid Master—_

His name was Tron and he was to protect the Users.

 **No. No, I will not.**

He lost himself to the darkness over and over, to the Virus that was tearing the entire system around him to shreds. He was lost time and time again to memories of what he had done to the very people had had sworn to protect. He was trapped in a whirlwind of failure.

But he clung to that statement, that promise. He was to protect the Users.

He was to protect the Users.

Protect.

Protect.

Rinzler fought it. Tron struggled more, winning time and time again.

He would not forget. Not again.

What seemed like a megacycle later, Tron saw the I/O connection open and the voice of God greeted him once more:

 _Tron, we're going on a trip._

 

* * *

 

**End** _**Chapter Six** _

  


* * *

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

She was beginning to hate the smell of the hospital. It was too sharp, the smells. She saw many people there and some were confined to beds, half-dressed, and apparently ill. Quorra wanted to ask what was wrong with them, but Sam had taught her several rules on human etiquette, and approaching random people with questions was considered rude.

Instead, she followed Sam into and out of the building without talking with other people. Once, one of the "nurses" said hello. She didn't know how to respond, though it did seem silly in hindsight. All she had to do was say, "hello," back. At that moment, however, Quorra found herself stumbling to find the correct thing to say. She hesitated too long, and the other woman walked away before she could say anything to her. Quorra seethed at her own inadequacy with language.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked her as they entered the elevator to meet Dr. Gibbs.

Quorra frowned. She felt her face heat up, though she had been told that was normal when she was embarrassed. "I can't find the right words quickly enough," she said, reluctantly. She didn't like pointing out her flaws, especially when they were in the field (" _This isn't a disc dueling arena, it's a shopping mall, Q!" Sam chided her often_ ). She tried to study human behavior as much as she could, from the little interactions she had with other people like Sam, or from the television. He told her not to focus on the television, however.

"You're nervous. It's normal," Sam said, smiling. She loved his smiles; he could make the most awkward situations into something even _she_ could smile about, despite the embarrassment. "I get nervous talking to strangers, too."

"It is annoying," Quorra admitted. As much as it was difficult to recall all of English's many words (especially now, since she had to rely on the limited memory human bodies had), but she enjoyed how much it could express her feelings adequately. This world was dominated by touch and verbal word. She was learning to adapt adequately to it.

They arrived on the third floor, a place Quorra was becoming very familiar with. Dr. Gibbs had been highly impressed by the results of the testing he had done with her samples. They had been working on it for the last two weeks, trying to see what her mysterious origins could tell them. Apparently, Dr. Gibbs was highly impressed by what he was finding, since he was asking them to return every few days.

Today, he was talking excitedly about her latest results. "You see, I was surprised by the leukocytosis, actually," Gibbs was saying. He said a lot of words that Quorra didn't recognize, and she had read many books. She had tried to read the entire works of Mr. Britannica (he had written more books than anyone she had ever seen), but Sam told her reading all of it would be too taxing for her.

Sam, at least, had the proper knowledge of what it was safe to ask questions and when it wasn't. "What's that?" he asked.

"She has an _enormous_ quantity of white blood cells," Gibbs replied. He wasn't looking at them; rather, he was looking at the chart lists he had printed out, looking enthusiastic. "Usually you see that in cancer patients, but Quorra is very healthy."

"Well… okay." Sam hesitated. "But what does that _mean_ then?"

Gibbs nodded. "I was curious about it as well, to be honest. I decided to check the tissue sample we took last week."

Quorra winced; even though she had been used to pain, the "Lumbar puncture" she had received last week had been extremely painful. Sam had been so upset for her (she was terribly embarrassed still over the fact she actually had cried during the procedure) that he had gotten her several sweet foods he had warned her were bad before, but they had tasted great. If she weren't so worried about the negative side effects he had described from them (stomachache, toothaches and becoming overweight), she would have been tempted to ask him for more "snacks."

"You see, there are many different types of stem cells the body can produce, even within adults. The somantic cells, or the adult stem cells, can be viable even in living patients," Gibbs explained. He turned around, leaning against the counter in the small laboratory they met in. "Quorra seems to have an abundance of those cells, particularly the neural stem cells. I found many of them in her spinal fluid, but that would explain her large amounts of white blood cells. The neural stem cells would help to create them."

While Sam looked mildly surprised, Quorra frowned, confused. "…What are white blood cells?" she asked at last. She was rather certain blood was red and not white.

Patiently, Gibbs smiled at her kindly. "They protect your body from infection," he said. "I don't believe you will be getting ill anytime soon, Ms. Quorra." She didn't get why he thought that was funny. She was happy she wouldn't get sick, though, for whatever reason. White blood cells actually sounded like security programs.

"So…" Sam began, trailing off. He looked contemplative. "Her body makes a lot of stem cells?"

Gibbs nodded. "Yes, from what I can see here." He smiled at Sam, looking excited again. "Mr. Flynn, there's no telling what else is hiding within these tests. You were right. There is something wondrous going on."

"But…" Sam said, confused. "Why would that be?"

"Why would her body make the cells when normal bodies don't?" Gibbs asked, amused by something. "Well, you said it yourself. If she truly isn't human by nature, then what can we really say about anything concerning this? The rules are being re-written with each new discovery we make."

Sam appeared very taken back by this development. He leaned against the wall, looking awed. "I wonder what dad would have said about this," he said, astonished.

Quorra had to wonder that too, but they _were_ making progress. That was the most important part. "He would be very happy, Sam," she said confidently, smiling. He smiled back.

"I am, too," Gibbs said, crossing his arms. He looked delighted. "If there were a way to somehow mimic her body's systems artificially, to create these cells on our own… we could fix many of the world's problems, Sam."

"Great," Sam said, grinning. Quorra could only mimic him.

This was her purpose. Her destiny. Whatever they could, she knew Flynn's prophecy would be true, that her existence would change both the Grid as well as the world of the Users. Now that she knew her body could, somehow, aide the health of other humans, she was more than happy. She was proud to be what she was, if it meant this.

Flynn would have been very, very happy, she decided. That alone warmed her heart.

"I'm not sure I followed what Dr. Gibbs was talking about, Sam, about the discoveries," she admitted as they left the hospital. He was going to drop her off at home (she didn't mind; Marvin made fun company) and then go back to the office for work.

Sam, although probably struggling to comprehend a lot of it himself, sighed. "Your body is good at fixing medical problems," he replied. "If we can apply that kind of fixing to human conditions… God. Think of all the diseases we could fix. All of the problems we could solve." He looked right at her as they waited for a light, looking absolutely thrilled. "Dad was right, Quorra. We're changing everything."

Quorra stared into his eyes and his face. Sam had his own face, independent than Flynn's… but sometimes, she could see Kevin Flynn within his son. His smile especially.

"…I'm glad, Sam. I truly am," she said softly.

She could only hope that the change was for the greater good. She was the last ISO, their last chance. After everything that had been lost trying to get her to this spot, to know that her destiny was being fulfilled as planned… it was overwhelming and wonderful.

It didn't matter if it took forever, or just a few more weeks. They would figure this out. They would crack the secrets behind her own existence—

Together.

 **0000**

Sam was not one to hate people. "Hate" was a strong word all by itself, so he didn't like the idea of "hating" a person. It just wasn't him.

However, he was fairly certain he was starting to absolutely hate his secretary, or at least he was going to start hating her very soon, if she didn't leave him the hell alone for thirty seconds.

"Mr. Roberts has asked you speak to him about the new line of Space Paranoids 2.0," Sandra Davis was saying, rather loudly, into his left ear. Sam moved away, shoving papers haphazardly into his briefcase. He despised that briefcase.

"I haven't tested it yet, so I don't want it leaving the manufacturers until I do," he replied, not even looking at her. They were walking rather quickly, but Sandra kept up. He had to give her props in those heels, if anything.

"Sir, the line up has been in development for nearly six months," Sandra continued, unaffected. How did she manage to sound so unenthused and yet still like she actually cared about that day planner list she was carrying around?

Sam shot her a wry look as they headed toward his office. He wanted to ditch his briefcase, right now. "I wasn't _here_ six months ago, Sandra, but my name's going to be attached to the products once they leave for the stores. Therein lies the problem."

Sandra was very persistent about him keeping to his schedule. Sam was irritated that she was so forceful about it, but he had to admit, he did need someone around who gave a damn about company bureaucracy. Hence the reason she was still employed, he mused to himself. Sandra seemed to understand his own lack of care toward it, so she took on the role of "company conscience" for him. Lucky him.

Upon opening the glass doors leading to his office's waiting room, Sam was reminded of the task he had set upon himself and not from Sandra's plan book. He wanted to meet with all of his new workers at some point. It wouldn't be easy to meet thirty new faces and remember them, but hey, he was already new at this by default. It wouldn't hurt to try.

He walked out into the room, Sandra on his tail, and saw a brown haired and rather lanky man sitting on the sofa. The new programmer stood up stiffly, looking alert.

"H-hi. My name's Thomas Devlin," he said quickly, extending a hand toward Sam. "I'm the new program developer."

Sam made a mental note to just call him Tom in his own mind; he hated formalities. "Hello. Name's Sam Flynn." They shook hands. Sam liked him immediately; the guy had a strong grip.

Releasing hands, Sam grinned politely. "You'll be working with our security team. We're giving ENCOM servers a complete security overhaul," he said. "You ever deal with security programming?"

Sam wondered why Tom suddenly looked incredibly red in the face, but he accounted nervousness for it. "Y-yes, Mr. Flynn," the younger man stammered. He smiled nervously. "Uh, I've _tinkered_ with it on occasion."

"Good." They needed new faces and good programmers. Sam nodded, grinning more now. "Welcome to the team, then, Mr. Devlin."

He was pleased to see a flicker of confidence spring to life in Tom's eyes. "Thank you, sir," he said, nodding back.

They especially needed strong workers, in spirit as well as body. They were going to rebuild ENCOM the way Kevin Flynn had wanted and getting rid of the weaker links was the first step. He had to pick people who he could count on, so the more confident but trustworthy the person, the better.

"Here, let me give you the tour," Sam announced. After shoving the briefcase at Sandra, he pulled Tom along with him, past Sandra, and toward the hallway they had just walked down.

In her unimpressed manner, Sandra called after him. "Sir, you have a meeting with public relations in twenty minutes!"

"My relations with them are already strained. Won't hurt to press 'em a bit more," Sam said brightly. He hit the elevator button and was happy to see the doors open immediately. "As you'll learn, Mr. Devlin, we're going to be a bit less formal around here than I think our current reputation paints us as. Hope you won't be disappointed."

For the first time since they met, Tom actually seemed amused as they walked into the elevator. "I'll never be disappointed with less formal, sir," he said, chuckling.

"Ha!" Sam laughed. He pressed the down button and stood back, hands clasped behind his back. "Good man. Where'd you go to school, by the way?"

"CalTech."

Oh, that was convenient. "Nice. I hear it's a great place." Sam smirked at his newest employee. "Let's see what our game developers are up to, shall we?"

If he was going to play by Big Business's rules, then he was going to bend the rules he could, whenever he could. He was going to fix the mistakes people like Culpepper had made. He was going to turn this company around to what his father had intended it to be.

More than anything… he was going to avoid being his father. Kevin Flynn had tried his best to be the best, but that hadn't worked.

Sam was going to try it his own way. If it worked or failed, there was no way to see unless he tried it now.

 _Here's to hoping, dad._

 

* * *

 **End _Chapter Seven_.**

* * *

 _  
_

**A/Ns** :  
\- "Mr. Britannica" – Quorra is referring to the Encyclopedia Britannica.  
\- "Leukocytosis/somantic stem cells" - I'm going out on a limb again with some of the facts revolving around Quorra. What Flynn never told us was how Quorra was going to change the world medically speaking (philosophically and religiously were more obvious with the whole order arising from chaos autonomically), so I can only assume it would have to do with her having some kind of medical condition that would benefit others. Hence the stem cells, which are, theoretically, a huge step forward for fixing many exisiting medical conditions.  
\- "Lumbar puncture" – D: Painful as hell, or so I'm told. A very large needle is used to take samples of your spinal fluid. No anesthesia. You can imagine how that feels.  
\- "Security programming" – OH THE IRONY.


	8. Chapter 8

 

Playing God was a lot of work. That, if anything, Sam Flynn knew as a fact.

He should have been sleeping. It was close to 1AM again and he was still at the computer. Sam was very glad Quorra had refrained from sleeping with him at night, choosing to have her own room, because she would not have tolerated him working at his desk for so long.

There were so many problems, so many glitches. Resting his weary head on his hand, Sam stared at the computer screen in front of him. The text had long stopped making any sense to him after staring at it for so long. Every time he did force himself to peer at the data, he was just reminded that he was very much in over his head.

He was just barely scratching the surface of the workings of the Grid. It wasn't as though Kevin Flynn had left his son with a guidebook on how to fix it. Sam had no idea where to begin with most of it.

It was more than just that though.

Only days into his reconstruction project, Sam made a horrible revelation. He had deleted several security programs, all malfunctioning and distorted in their coding, the first time he had encountered them.

The moment he did so, however, Sam had almost thrown up, realizing with much horror what he had just done. All he could think about were disc duels, and spraying coding, the screams of players and programs filling his ears, tortured faces filling his eyes—

This was no longer just fixing a computer. This was rebuilding an entire world. Rebuilding… lives.

Shuddering even at the memory of doing so, Sam no longer deleted programs. He focused on repairing the actual structure of the Grid. That in and of itself was a massive undertaking. After figuring out how to actually build within the code, Sam tried to reestablish the "land" Flynn had already built. He just wanted to restore what it had been… before… well, before four weeks ago.

He had been met with unexpected opposition. Several security programs, all malfunctioning, were blocking his every move, probably running on outdated commands, or commands corrupted by the destruction of C.L.U. and the stability of the Grid itself. Even more than them, Sam couldn't figure out why every time he tried to lay out the coding for the actual Grid space near the borders, it just dissolved on its own accord, especially near the Sea of Simulation—

"Sam?"

Sam jumped in his chair, whirling around as quickly as he could to find the person who spoke. It wasn't that surprising, really. Quorra stood at his door, peering in. The hallway light was still off, so all he could see was her pale white skin against the dark backdrop.

"Yeah?" he asked, trying to tell his heart to stop pounding as fiercely as it was. Perhaps he should find a way to make the door squeak. Or at least put in a squeaky floorboard.

"Why are you still up?" Quorra asked, moving forward. She walked toward the computer, eyes squinting at the only light source in the room.

Sam cleared his throat, trying to think of something quick to say. "Uhh, just working a little. Shouldn't be up too much longer," he said, turning back around. He tried to distract both of them. "What are you doing up, anyway?"

He could almost hear the frown forming on her face. "I saw the light," she explained.

Even at this ungodly hour, Quorra didn't sound bothered. She was just always so… polite. "Oh, sorry," he said, meaning it. He probably should have found a way to block the light if it kept her up.

The room fell silent for a while. Quorra still stood there, watching him type at the console. "…You are working on the Grid?" she asked at last. There was no emotion in her voice to give away her opinion on the matter, even though Sam had a feeling of what it was.

"Yeah," he said lamely. He almost had access to one level of security programs, toward the edge of the Grid. The part that wasn't damaged, that was.

Quorra crept closer. "You already have a lot to handle, Sam," she said gently. There was a chiding tone buried under the concern. Sam laughed quietly.

"Tell me about it," he murmured. Access was denied promptly on the screen. Groaning, Sam sat back in his chair, narrowly bumping into the woman beside him. "Man… how did dad handle this for so long?"

"Perhaps you should just… postpone it," Quorra replied, surprising him. When he looked up at her, she was looking at him with a strangely serious expression. "The ISO case is far more complex. You may want to focus on that." The strong computer light made her look so beautiful; yes, it was time for bed.

Sighing quietly, Sam turned the chair around slowly, facing her properly. "I'm not trying to push you aside, Quorra. I didn't mean it like that," he said gently. She took her role in their plans very seriously.

Instantly, the frown was gone from her face. Quorra looked embarrassed. "I-I didn't mean that either," she exclaimed quickly. Sam hid his smile; her enthusiasm to get social behaviors right was endearing and terribly sad at the same time. "You have a lot to worry about, Sam. I just… don't want to see you hurt yourself trying to do it all."

Reaching out, he took her hand in his. "I won't, Q," he said, smiling comfortingly, despite his own headache. He looked back at his computer. "I just want to see this done, you know? Dad put everything he had into building the Grid. Without it, there wouldn't have been ISOs or… or this. You know. Me and you meeting." He looked back at her, suddenly awkward.

Quorra, thankfully, only smiled. "That is true," she conceded. She removed her hand, but stayed there, the concerned look returning. "The Grid can wait, Sam."

Sam wanted to agree. He really, really did. But there were several remaining nagging thoughts left on his mind. None of them made sense. "…There are programs still viable there," he said at last, surprising himself. "Shouldn't I… be helping them?"

Quorra was quiet for a long time. "This is more than one person should have to bear, Sam," she said quietly. She empathized so well for a being that wasn't human. Sam closed his eyes, exhausted.

"I know. I know." He opened them, looking up at her. He wanted to look at her eyes forever, sometimes. She was beautiful. More than that, she was the only thing left of his father he really had. "I just wish I understood it all now. The system is still real fragile. I'm going to have to rebuild more than half of it by the time it's all done."

"You can do it. I know you can," she replied, confident for his sake.

Sam rubbed his eyes, wishing he could be like that. "…Damn security," he muttered. "Keeps blocking me. Probably still going haywire." There was so much to fix…

"Why not just delete them?" Quorra asked, sounding confused.

Why indeed. Sam stared at the keyboard, trying to think of something intelligent to say.

There were a lot of reasons. None of them were very good.

"It'd be a waste," he said at last, knowing it wasn't going to appease her.

He was right; the ISO made a soft sigh. The innocence was only skin deep for Quorra. She was always stronger than him. Always. "Sam." Quorra frowned, concerned. She decided to change tactics. "You should go to bed."

Glancing back at the desk, Sam stared at the screen. He wanted to just turn them off and listen to her advice.

At least, he tried to convince himself that was what he wanted. It was difficult to tell lately. Sam sighed.

"Yeah. I'll get there in a minute."

There was a pause and, then quietly, the door shut. Sam wilted in the chair.

Perhaps if he tried another root command…

 **0000**

This was impossible. The Flynn family never believed in impossibilities, or so both his father and grandfather had told Sam, but that afternoon, it seemed like he had tried everything.

He was supposed to be working with his various public relations agent about a new fundraiser that just _had_ to include his presence at the event. Instead, he had isolated himself down in the laser lab. It had taken weeks for him to rediscover the forgotten sector of ENCOM. It had been turned into storage, the people in charge probably disregarding the late Dr Gibbs' work as unimportant for company interests. The only reason Sam had found out about it was because of Alan. The older man still didn't know why Sam was so interested in it now.

The lab was old, outdated and dust encased pretty much every important apparatus. Despite that, Sam could easily single out one important location toward the back of the room that seemed to be missing a piece of machinery that had once been hooked up to the main computers that littered the rest of the room. His father had decided to move the laser studies underground, to protect the Grid, it seemed. By removing the laser to the arcade, he had managed to fool his own company into thinking the lab was unimportant.

After several days Sam finally got the machine back to where it belonged. It had taken ages to remove the dust and grime. He left the storage containers where they were and focused on getting better computers in the meanwhile. He wanted to keep things quiet, but he… he didn't want this to be at the arcade. The Grid, even when it had been under Kevin Flynn's power, was still a dangerous place. If Sam was going to go back there (once it was properly fixed), he would only do so if he had someone supervising from the outside. No exceptions, no twenty-year mistakes.

The closest he got to the machine was to work on the Grid whenever he had the "spare time" he often forcefully made for himself during the work day. He carried the main components around his neck almost all the time. He didn't really know why he was so intent on fixing it. It had been a part of his father's life as much as the ISOs had, perhaps even more so. This was Sam's legacy just as much as it had been Flynn's dream.

But it did little use, sitting there, trying to unravel Kevin Flynn's designs. Sam stared at the screens, all flashing warnings, all telling him the inevitable: he was making dismal progress. It didn't matter if he was trying to reconstruct it on his own systems or the ones he was trying to repair here.

The main problem was the security. He couldn't move forward with them seeing his presence as a danger. He could almost see them, with their Recognizers, their shock sticks…

Sam shook the images away. Thinking about them like that did little to help in any way. He tried to come up with counter commands to override them, but he wasn't familiar with the security coding. He wondered if it had been his father who designed it, or C.L.U.. He had no idea if the Administrator program had been given Flynn's knowledge of how to work computer programming. Perhaps he did, if he managed to repurpose so many programs into his soldiers.

" _Tron… what have you become?"_

When he had been younger, he had heard of Tron and all the good he had done. Imagining that he had been turned into the monster Rinzler was difficult to fathom. The results of his repurposing were easy to see; Sam saw no hero in that… that _thing_ that obeyed C.L.U..

Then again, Sam knew they owed Rinzler for quite a bit in those final moments. Staring at the screen, Sam smiled; perhaps there was still Tron in there, even a small amount.

And that gave him hope for these other programs. If he could somehow turn their new coding off, maybe he could avoid having to kil— _derezz_ them. That would be the optimum solution.

But he was not getting anywhere with it. Frustrated, Sam was beginning to lose his patience. There was no logical reason he was so nervous about deleting files or data. It was not—they were not human beings. They weren't… _people_.

They just had faces. And names. And… and had once seen creatures like him and his father like gods. Like… fathers.

Yeah. Totally logical.

Groaning, Sam dropped his head into his hands, feeling increasingly overwhelmed. He had another meeting to go to, but he couldn't keep shrugging his duties. Then, after that, he had to get home to get dinner for him and Quorra, and then take her out for a quick trip to Dr. Gibbs'. He had made another interesting discovery concerning her brain scans again, so they had to check that out. Just another average day.

 _Just breathe. You can do it, Flynn. Just… remember to_ breathe _._

Sam opened his eyes. The screen was just too impossible to read anymore. He'd try tomorrow.

Quorra didn't want him to be working on this to the point it overtook priority of the ISO case. Sam knew that and he could understand it. But he couldn't just drop it. This was just as important as the ISO miracle was. This was his father's haven… and his tomb.

Sam would fix the Grid, one day. Even if it took forever.

He left the eerily vacant laser lab and headed for the fifth floor. Time to become Mr. Flynn, twenty-seven year old CEO once more. Stepping out of the elevator, Sam almost ran into someone walking the other way. Glancing up, he saw, unsurprisingly, a familiar face. He had tried to associate himself with all the new recruits. Some names stuck out more than others, and as he fell into pace with the other programmer, he remembered one of them.

"Hello, Tom," he said, confident. The other man looked up. Recognition flickered in his eyes, so Sam was relieved to know he got the name and face paired up correctly.

"Ah, good afternoon, Mr. Flynn," Tom Devlin said politely. Somehow, Sam just knew the guy was on lunch break.

Sam grinned. Simple conversation with the masses, he could do that. "I saw your work you did with the security updates. Very nice." Even _he_ would have problems getting through that net. Impressive.

Hesitating under the praise, Tom nodded, smiling back. "Thank you, sir."

Despite the fact that they were walking at a normal pace, Sam felt part of his mind freeze, almost sending him toppling over in reality.

Security programming.

…No. That was… insane.

Sam stared at the other man, trying to be discreet. They were running out of hallway to walk along without making it seem like Sam was deliberately trying to stalk the guy down. The idea that was slowly, traitorously, dangerously taking root in the back of his mind begged for attention.

It was insane. Sam was insane, to have even thought of it.

…But what if it… _worked_?

"…Say…" he began, throat dry. He coughed, catching Tom's full attention. "I'm curious."

"Yes, sir?" Tom asked, surprised. He seemed as though he had been starting to turn right (to the cafeteria), so Sam turned with him.

"Walk with me," he said simply. He tried to seem politely friendly, but his heart was racing. He hoped his nervousness wasn't that obvious. He almost tripped over his next words. "I know this may seem a bit abrupt, but I've gotta ask. How would you feel about working on a project with me?"

He was pretty sure, somewhere out in the middle of downtown inside a now-posh apartment, Quorra was overtaken by the urge to punch him in the face. He hoped she'd take this turn of events kindly.

"Project?" Tom repeated. He seemed to be torn between looking curious and politely wary. Apparently, Sam's _unusual_ behavior preceded him. Good.

"Yeah." Sam slowed to a stop, Tom stopping just a few feet in front of him. The two men looked at each other and Sam continued, forcing nonchalant. "It's not exactly part of ENCOM. Just a little side thing I've been tinkering with lately. I, uh, I've been having some problems with some security programs in it. I was wondering if you'd be interested in taking a look at it."

Not the clearest or the best ambiguous explanation he had ever given, but Tom seemed to like it as it was.

"Uh—I'd be happy to, sir!" he blurted. Tom was clearly interested in working with his boss's boss's boss. Of course he was; Sam was a pretty cool guy, Sam had to admit.

However, Sam had the decency to feel immensely uneasy about it himself. There were a lot of problems with what he was considering. This wasn't the ISO case, however; this was just, well, a computer situation. On the one hand, while he liked Devlin as a worker, he didn't know much about him otherwise. On the _other_ hand, it wasn't like Sam had other friends to share this with. His lifestyle had left him essentially isolated form the world, other than Alan and Marvin. Now he had Quorra, but she wasn't a programmer.

Going out on a limb like this was truly his only option. He couldn't do this on his own, not anymore. He looked at Tom, gauging the other man carefully. Tom seemed like a nice guy. Whether or not he could be trusted with handling secret, they'd discover along the way.

Sam smiled at the other man, deciding to go with his gut. "Good. Let's go see it."

 

* * *

 

 **End** _ **Chapter Eight**_.

  


* * *

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

She wasn't a doctor. Amy was pretty sure her mother would have wanted her to be a doctor rather than a computer engineering major, but hey, Amy lived her own life, not her mother's. Even still, the amount of psychology and doctoring she was being force to go through recently reinforced her decision that medical sciences were just not her thing. Not because she couldn't handle the course work, but rather, the emotional strain.

For the last week, Amy had been watching the computer, not just Rinzler/Tron, or whatever he wanted to call himself at the time. No, she was watching the computer itself. The monitor remained strong, as did the keyboard (the mouse was useless at this point, but she bet it still worked). The actual computer system itself was what was slowly breaking down. The lights were dimming and its fans and motors were running at an insanely loud level. Tom didn't complain about it though; he had noticed it too.

The computer was dying.

Amy didn't think it was very fair. Tron was slowly becoming more vocal, even while Rinzler's nonsensicality dominated the conversations at times, and overall, the program seemed to be improving, if only because he was beginning to trust them.

But now, they were running out of time. At least, Rinzler was. He was… trapped in a dying world, or so it seemed like. Amy found herself staring at the computer for long periods of time, trying to figure out what to do. Moving him to another computer seemed like only a temporary solution. He would just keep corrupting the newer systems with that virus of his.

Even still, if she didn't get him out of there, Amy knew Rinzler was going to die. If the system crashed, he would be trapped there, the Virus taking over the entire console, and he would wind up being deleted or destroyed.

They needed a bigger computer, if only… if only to buy them time.

There was only one clear choice in the end. Surging forward, Amy collapsed on her chair, fingers already flying across the keyboard.

 _Query: Good afternoon, Tron._

She prayed it would be Tron to answer. She had learned that if she anticipated whoever it was by stating their name, they usually responded to it. Trigger words, apparently, worked for computer programs, too.

 _  
_

_**GOOD AFTERNOON, AMY.**_   


It was equally amazing that Tron or Rinzler knew her by name. Tom usually identified himself, though, so perhaps it wasn't that amazing.

Regardless, there was no time for polite chatter today. Biting her lip, Amy continued to type. As soon as the message sent, she was already diving into her desk drawer. It had to be in there…

 _Query: Can you package yourself up?_

The screen flashing told her to look up. Luckily, Tom had left all of her disordered computer parts alone for once (he was such a neat freak sometimes), so Amy was able to start pulling out the right cords as she glanced at the screen.

 _  
_

_**WHAT? WHY?**_   


_Query: We're going on a trip._

 _  
_

_**WHERE?**_   


Amy had to laughed at herself. She wasn't too sure exactly herself, but she had a pretty good idea. If the plan worked, she'd celebrate. For now, she felt like throwing up from nervousness.

 _Query: To a better system. You're going to die in here. And DON'T tell me you deserve to, because I still need you around, okay?_

 _  
_

_**THAT IS NO REASON, NOR PURPOSE.**_   


_Query: It is to me._

He didn't reply. Amy stared at the screen, heart racing. She didn't want it to end like this. Tron and Rinzler both had a story to tell, she was certain. This was the only way.

 _Query: Please, Tron. Please, trust me_ , she pleaded.

 _  
_

_**TRUST IS A DANGEROUS THING.**_   


Rinzler was coming back in his pessimism. Amy stopped trying to fix her laptop to the desktop console.

 _Query: I know_ , she typed. _But please, if only to help me. I want to understand you. I can't do that if you're dead._

That was a selfish thing to say, but she had learned that despite the varying opinions Rinzler and Tron had about Users (Tron revered them and Rinzler seemed to hate them), both mentalities defaulted to the idea that her wish should have been their command. Amy didn't want to bully them into doing anything, but this was no time to coach the stubborn entity along.

After what seemed like forever, there was a reply.

 _  
_

_**WHERE IS THE NEW SYSTEM?**_   


_Query: A laptop I just bought._ Tom was definitely going to smack her for wasting so much money. Even Amy knew the computer would have a limited lifespan. _It'll be temporary until I can get you to the system I want to get for you, okay?_

 _  
_

_**I AM CORRUPTED. I WILL CORRUPT NEW SYSTEM.**_   


Uh oh. His words were beginning to jumble again. Amy typed faster, trying to outpace the transition to Rinzler.

 _Query: That's okay, I planned for that._ Well, she at least knew she was throwing a couple hundred bucks down the drain, but hey, perhaps that was the Universe's way of getting back at her for stealing the expensive program in the first place.

It would only take a few minutes to install the new OS to her laptop. It was a bootleg of the ENCOM OS-12, but it was supposed to have a faster processing capability. Hopefully it'd buy Rinzler a few more hours (at the very least) before she was force to do something else, something crazier. Like confronting the CEO of ENCOM himself, exposing both herself and ENCOM. She hoped it wouldn't come to that.

After several minutes, Tron seemed to notice the struggle. He was very adept at figuring out what she was doing, even if he couldn't see her. She wondered how badly time passed differently for him; he claimed that a few minutes for her was much longer for him.

 _  
_

_**DO NOT TROUBLE YOURSELF.**_   


Amy chuckled, making a final few adjustments to the laptop.

 _Query: It's not troubling. Get ready for a transfer._

She connected the laptop to the desktop computer. She didn't know what was going to happen. It wasn't like she had any controls over the desktop console anymore; the terminal window was the only thing she had access to. The moment she connected them, nothing happened. The laptop registered a connection, but the screens remained the same. She opened a terminal window on the laptop, adrenaline surging through her body.

This had to work.

Amy had almost decided to try to force a connection between them, but without warning, the desktop made a horrible whistling noise and then the screen, which had been on nonstop for almost an entire month, went dark. Amy stared at the desktop, suddenly terrified. The tower continued to whine for several seconds before it slowly faded and then the room was filled with silence.

Oh. Fuck.

Whipping around in her seat, Amy brought up the window and began to type, her hands trembling. She prayed she'd get a response.

 _Query: Hello?_

After what seemed like forever, other white letters appeared on the screen. For Amy, they were the best things she had seen in a long time.

 _  
_

_**SYSTEM FAR INFERIOR.**_   


A weak laugh escaped Amy's throat. At least he was responsive.

 _Query: At least you remember how to bitch. I'll keep the computer on as I travel. It'll take thirty minutes or so to get to the building._

 _  
_

_**WHERE ARE WE GOING?**_   


Amy looked down at the screen, seeing the different pixels of the screen beginning to fade faster than ever, parts of the background already malfunctioning. She steeled herself.

 _Query: Home. Let me know if anything changes._

Getting to the office was a trip and a half. She hid the laptop inside her messenger bag, the screen propped up (to keep the computer from entering sleep-mode) with a pair of socks. The subway had never moved slower and she was pretty sure she had elbowed a cop out of the way to get across a busy intersection, but she was on a mission.

Twenty-five minutes later, Amy walked in the front doors of the one building she was probably going to have nightmares about later. This had to be done, she kept telling herself, as she approached the front desk. The secretary looked up at her and Amy forced herself to grin winningly, tucking the laptop closer to her inside her bag.

"Hi," she said brightly. She hoped her fear wasn't too apparent. "I'm looking for Thomas Devlin. Do you know where I can find him?"

 **0000**

Tom seemed like a pretty easy guy to talk to. He was even easier to feed lies to, or at least, mild exaggerations. Curious, the new programmer had asked Sam on the way down to the laser lab about exactly what they were going to be working on. When they entered the rundown lab, the questions increased.

"My dad's friends worked here, apparently. Lots of laser tech and stuff. I'm just using it because it's where he built some of the programs we're facing today," Sam explained, aiming for a confident voice. "The company was using this as storage for a lot of older files, so that's why the security isn't tight getting down here. It's not exactly top of the line materials around."

Actually, if anyone succeeded in breaking into this lab, Sam mused, they would have been able to make off with a lot more than just ENCOM operating systems. They'd get their hands on probably one of the most important technologies for the future of mankind. Tom didn't need to know that, and neither did ENCOM.

Sam sat Tom down in front of the Grid's main console, content to let the man figure out what to do himself. He knew form experience that trying to talk someone through a new system was more hectic than it helped. Tom, judging by his brightened face, was like Sam. He liked to dive into the new field fully instead of just dipping his toes in the surface of it. Yeah, he liked Tom.

"What kind of system is it?" Tom asked, curious. He was looking over the files, entranced.

Sam had to smile; just wait until Tom found the more complex files. Then, Sam would probably have to explain more. For now, he let the younger programmer explore.

"Um…" he began, choosing his words carefully. "I'm not really sure. Entirely custom. My, uh, dad made it."

"Oh…" For some reason, Tom seemed to hesitate. He turned in his seat, looking up at Sam in surprise and… wariness. "I, uh…"

If he was going to become sympathetic over it, Sam wanted to cut him off preemptively. He had received enough sympathy in his early teens to last him more than a lifetime.

"I'm just trying to figure it out, you see," he explained quickly. "It's far more complex than what I'm used to dealing with."

Tom looked back at the computer and then back at Sam, nervous. "I'm not sure how I could help you with it, then, Mr. Flynn," he said.

"You're pretty good at making security programs," Sam replied, grinning. "I need a way to override them."

At least at that, Tom seemed a bit relieved. "Ah." He turned around properly and stared down at the computer, a bit more confident. "You have access to delete them, sir. I can do that—."

Against his will, his body flew forward toward the desk. "No!" Sam exclaimed. Tom jerked back, alarmed, and Sam stood there, struggling to find words to say. He couldn't explain this, not to anyone. Even Quorra didn't understand.

"Uh, no, no, I don't want to delete them. I want to rewrite them. Repair them." Sam stood back, rubbing at his face. "The system went through some major, um, alterations in the last month. I want to keep the programs that are still there."

Tom frowned. "It would be much easier to just start over, sir."

Sam used to be good at excuses. Why couldn't he think of any good ones now? "…My dad wrote these," he said, deciding to go with sentimentality. That could work. "I want to keep the system the same."

It apparently did. "Oh… I see." Tom sat back around, looking determined again. "Well, I'll do my best to override them then, sir."

Suddenly, Sam had to smile again. "Quit calling me, sir," he laughed, standing back slightly. "Ha… Sam is just fine."

"Are you sure?" Tom asked, stunned. He probably wasn't expecting to be this close or personal with someone like Sam. For the CEO, it was ironic; a month ago, Sam wouldn't have foreseen this either.

Funny how life turned out, he thought to himself. It was very, very funny.

"Yeah." Sam nodded at the other man. "I only wear the tie to fool the secretary and the board, honestly."

Tom laughed. "I see." He adjusted the seat and faced the monitors again. "Well, I'll do my best to get this to work, uh, Sam." At least he was quick to adapt. That was good in this project of theirs.

Sam smiled. "Take your time."

It wasn't like there was a schedule, he kept telling himself. If Tom got anywhere, at any point in this, it'd be a miracle. Sam wasn't expecting progress immediately. He stood back, letting the programmer type away, fighting the same obstacles Sam had been fighting for weeks. He wondered how long it would take for Tom to either admit defeat (he doubted it; the man seemed incredibly dedicated to getting answers and results) or point out the problems Sam had already discovered.

He was not expecting after twenty minutes of idly inspecting parts of the lab he had overlooked earlier to hear Tom shout out in elation.

"Aha!"

Sam wanted to chide himself for immediately expecting the best; he had rushed over to the Grid's console, eyes wide, heart racing.

"You found a way to rewrite the coding?" he blurted automatically. He should have just assumed it was something simpler. He hadn't expected himself to be so excited over this. Or desperate.

"Almost, sir—Sam," Tom answered, stuttering over the name. He pointed at the screen, smiling brightly. "I initiated an override of several programs running right now."

"Which ones?" Sam asked, astonished. Tom seemed to be successfully accessing the security programs' coding. How…?

Tom grinned, completely wrapped up in the data he was streaming. "Some basic functions, but the main one was the security core you have running in the foreground right now." He continued to type, probably fighting the counterattacks of the programs at the same time. "I can't reach the background drives just yet, but this is a nice stepping stone."

Sam noticed something else, perhaps more alarming. He looked down and saw several red lights appearing on the other parts of the lab equipment. Nothing was running, but he hadn't seen them turn on the entire time he had been down there. "The lights are turning on," he said, deciding to see if it was Tom's doing.

"I probably enabled a few functions in doing so," the other programmer explained, distracted. He kept typing. "Hold on, I'm changing the security programs to obey your input commands."

That entirely captured Sam's attentions. "Good…" he said, relieved. Perhaps he had done right, trusting in an assistant. He couldn't just advertise the situation, but if he selected the right programmers for the right jobs, limiting how much information he really revealed… maybe this could work for the better.

"Sam?" a voice called out. A familiar one, a female's.

Sam immediately looked up and was astonished to see Quorra walking down the stairs from the upper level of the lab, another woman in tow. Sam wanted to ask her what she was doing there, but something beeped on the console in front of him. Sam glanced down out of instinct. There were a few windows up and Tom was typing away at the one, but one smaller window that popped up caught his eye immediately.

 _Laser activated._

Sam gaped at the screen, whirling around. He saw the camera lifting and suddenly, he felt as though he had fallen into one of the nightmares he had been having for the last four weeks every so often, where the dreamy fight of the inevitable seemed to be playing out in reality at that very moment.

"Tom, _get up_!" he shouted, grabbing at the other programmer.

That was about all he had time to do, honestly. Sam saw Quorra stop at the end of the row, staring at him. Her expression morphed from confusion to horror in only seconds.

"SAM—!"

Too late—

The last thing he felt was the jarring sensation of his body being pierced by billions of laser beams and then he was falling back.

Again.

 **0000**

Tom was not an adventurous guy. Amy complained about it, jokingly, that they never did anything dangerous or exciting. He was a computer nerd. Hacking and trolling was about as exciting as his life got, really.

Needless to say, the moment he realized he was suddenly in the middle of a black field that looked like an apocalyptic wasteland when he had pretty damn sure he had just been back in a laboratory at a desk, Tom wasn't really too happy or prepared.

He fell over almost immediately after the lights stopped flashing around him. He felt wrong, like something had been crawling through his skin. Tom yelled out when he hit the ground. He wasn't hallucinating, because the rock hurt to land on. What was more alarming, even more than the new environment, was that he was no longer wearing the clothes he was pretty sure he had been wearing only seconds previous. Instead of a tie and dress shirt, he was wearing probably the tightest fitting black outfit he had ever seen, let alone worn. Of course, it had to _glow_ , too. Lovely.

"Where the hell are we? !" he yelled. If Amy was here, she would probably accuse him of shrieking that, but he didn't shriek. He was a guy. A manly guy. Totally.

Unfortunately, Sam Flynn, standing ten feet away from him, didn't look any more rational than he felt. "Calm down!" the CEO was shouting back. He looked positively terrified. He started muttering to himself, turning away from Tom. " _Jesus Christ_ —okay, okay, she was right there. She saw us. Sh-she's at the controls. We got this."

Scrambling to his feet, Tom tried to remember how to breathe. "What the fuck is going on, Flynn? !" he demanded again. Oh, God, why was the sky so black… wait, why was there a sky at all? Where did the lab go? !

Sam whirled around, eyes wild. " _Let me think_!" he shouted. Tom hesitated, only at Flynn's anger, which quickly faded back into the sheer panic that had been there before. Sam just stared at him, clearly just as scared as Tom felt. "Just—just let me think!"

That wasn't a good enough answer, not for Tom. "Where… where _are_ we? !" he asked again, taking shaky steps forward. Everything felt normal, but… but this wasn't the office. He looked around, mind overwhelmed. They were near cliffs and—and the sky looked like it was ready to start raining ink. What—

"W-we're…" Sam turned around again, grasping at his head. He sounded desperate. "Oh, Jesus, this wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't supposed to—oh, _Goddamn it_ , the overrides!" Spinning around, he pinned Tom with a panicked stare. "Th-the laser activated. When you set off those functions, you set off the camera operation, too."

" _Camera operat_ —what are you talking about? !" Tom exclaimed. "Where _is_ this? !" This place looked right out of a nightmare. H-he had to be dreaming this—

Sam took a deep breath, covering his eyes. "…Alright. Alright…" Standing up straighter, he faced Tom completely, clearly trying to regain control over himself and the situation. "Tom. Listen to me very, _very_ carefully. This is incredibly important."

Tom was not in the mood to listen very, very carefully. "Where is this? !" he demanded, for what he considered the last time, taking steps closer to the other man. His head was ready to explode.

Sam stared at him. For a moment, the fear faded into… something else. It kind of looked like grief. "This… this world… it's called the Grid." Tom felt his heart skip a beat. That name. He… knew that name. Sam continued, oblivious. "We're inside the computer."

"The… the compu…" Tom began, but his throat failed him. He stepped back, legs weak. "Are you… crazy?"

That name. Oh, God, that name. Why… why did it sound so…

"No. I'm not," Sam said, eyes growing harder. "My dad… built this. The laser was from the labs, but it…" Looking away, Sam seemed to recover from his shock. He appeared firmer, stronger. "He found a way to get inside of it. The Grid."

 _  
**INSIDE GRID.**   
_

Tom stared out at nothing, part of his mind shattering.

 _  
_

_**I AM A PROGRAM. RINZLER. RINZLER. WHERE IS THE GRID?**_   


"…Inside the computer?" he breathed, trembling. Oh, no… oh… no… this…

"Yes." Sam met his eyes, again stronger than Tom could even fathom at the moment. "I'm sorry you got involved, but I couldn't beat the security by myself. I-I didn't want to actually go back inside of the Grid, not yet. This wasn't supposed to happen."

There were so many words and so many reactions Tom knew he should have been having. Instead, he was just trying to understand what the other man was telling him. "Back…?"

Sighing sharply, Sam shook his head. "It's complicated, but I'll explain later, I promise. Just… let me think for a second."

He moved away for Tom, staring out at the vacant, demonic landscape. Tom stared after him, unable to do much other than that. In the distance, he thought he saw the remains of a silver tower. In between there and here was just black stone. The sky rumbled and lightning flashed further away.

All Tom could do was think back further in his own mind, reality suddenly morphing right before his eyes.

For the last four weeks, he had assumed what Amy and he had found was a prank. Or… or just… some malfunctioning program.

But… this was not a joke. Not this. He watched Sam pace, muttering planning. Tom just stood there, thinking.

"…Rinzler was right?" he whispered, his breath coiling upward in mist. He didn't even notice how cold it was there. He felt cold everywhere, even inside his body.

" _What_?" Sam asked sharply, from a distance. He had turned around at the utterance.

Tom swallowed hard, shaking his head. "N-nothing." In reality, he was struggling with a terrifying revelation. "Nothing." Sam looked suspicious, but Tom didn't care.

Rinzler had been telling the truth. Or rather, he had been… real. A real, talking program that lived inside a computer.

…Oh, God. Tom felt part of his mind weaken as he realized the truth. The Grid wasn't just some delusion a computer program had been instructed to tell them. It was real place and a real, sentient being living inside of it had told them about it. And if this was true, then… what did that mean about the other things Rinzler had told them?

About Kevin Flynn?

About the ISOs?

About… himself?

Tom shuddered. This was impossible. It… it didn't make any sense.

"We need to reach the I/O tower. It's the only way in or out for us," Sam was saying. His no-nonsense voice dragged Tom back to reality. Or rather, virtual reality.

Oh, God.

"H-how is this possible?" Tom asked. His voice cracked. All around them, he could see what seemed to be rock and open land, but this wasn't real. He looked at his hands and arms. Why was he was wearing strange black clothing with glowing stripes now? Why?

Sam hesitated. "I'll explain everything later. Come on," he said instead. He began to walk quickly away from the spot they had landed, marching over the rocky land as if nothing about this was odd.

Terror flickered in his chest. "W-wait!" Tom shouted. On clumsy legs, he ran after Sam, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Mr. Flynn, hold on! We-we're actually—we're actually inside a _computer_? ! This is the _Grid_? !"

"You heard of it before?" Sam asked, suddenly alarmed. He moved forward even closer, eyes huge. Wary alarm was growing in his expression. " _Where_ are you coming up with those names? !"

Tom flinched. This was no time to worry about consequences for the hacking. "I—yes," he stuttered. "I-it's complicated. How are we getting out? !" _That_ was the most important thing to be worried about, if this was all true. Everything else could wait.

Sam didn't look convinced (more like suspicious as hell), but he seemed to understand the urgency. "The I/O tower," he answered, pointing to the west. All Tom could see was a very faint glowing light suspended over what looked like water. It looked like a long ways away.

"But how did we get inside? !" he continued, alarmed. Nothing made sense. "H-how can you take real objects and place them _here_? !"

"I'm not sure of the exact science, but this isn't the time, Tom. You have to trust me," Sam insisted.

Oh, yeah, like that was going to happened. "You got us sucked into a _computer program_! This—this is insane!" Tom exclaimed.

Bristling, Sam stood back again. "I know it is!" he snapped. His mask of strength slipped, just a little. "You just have to trust me! I'll get us out of this alive, but you need to trust me." He stopped, breathing heavily. Regret and fear flickered over his face. He sounded… honest. "This… this wasn't supposed to happen. The Grid's not ready for us to come back to it yet."

Tom stared down at him. "…What happened here?" he asked, quieter than before, his mind already jumping to conclusions.

He had an idea of what had, from Rinzler's bizarre stories. He had just thought them to be made up delusions or just some joke. Now… Tom realized he probably should start considering the messed up program's rambling as something more than just a prank.

"…It's a long story," Sam admitted after a tense moment of silence. He took on that firm look again, moving forward, leaving Tom standing there alone. "We have to get out."

That in itself seemed impossible. "That light's all the way across the water. How are we going to get there?" he asked, gesturing out at the water. They were probably about twenty minutes from the ledge over the water, but he somehow doubted it was safe to swim. He couldn't swim that far anyway, even in a safe area. This place looked as friendly as a pool of toxic waste.

Sam didn't even turn around. He kept walking, but it didn't seem like he was headed to the ledge. "Give me a few minutes and I'll figure something out. We need to get over the Sea before anything else, so just… let me figure it out." He sounded more like he was pleading than telling Tom anything.

He stopped and began to do something to what looked like a regular bolder. Tom stared at him, helpless. He wanted to demand more answers, for at least what was going to happen to them next. But suddenly, even speaking seemed like an impossible task. Sam wasn't going to tell him anything now. Tom's only choice was to trust his boss to get them out alive.

This was absolutely insane. Tom sat down stiffly, feeling the affects of the cold now. He didn't know what to do at all. He wanted to just open his eyes and wake up back at the lab. That wasn't going to happen. Tom looked up at the world they were now in, this… this Grid. A computer world. Beyond it, he saw a black sea churning, taunting him, warning him.

That was the Sea. The Sea of Simulation.

Rinzler had been telling the truth.

Tom dropped his head onto his knees, trying not to panic. He just prayed Rinzler had been wrong about everything else. About Kevin Flynn. About what the Grid was. About… everything.

Amy was going to freak out if— _when—_ he told her, that was for sure. Tom looked up at the tower of light, that was apparently their escape route.

He prayed he could tell her soon.

 

* * *

  


**End** _**Chapter Nine** _

  


* * *

 

 **A/Ns** : **  
-Clothing change** – Alright… I was a bit confused in _Legacy_ over this. In the original film, Flynn automatically got a wardrobe change. Inside the Grid when Sam arrives, he doesn't have a clothing change. I know the systems are different and all, but… yeah, it was easier just to keep the original film's automatic-clothing-change here. Pardon the mixing of canon.


	10. Chapter 10

 

Quorra was worried. Sam had not called her like he said he would. They were supposed to go to Dr. Gibbs later that evening, but Quorra had also wanted to go shopping. She did not like the idea of using Sam's currency for her own items, but Sam convinced her that if she did the household chores (something he apparently despised; she didn't know why, considering it was so _easy_ ), she earned an "allowance." Plus her contributions as a "test subject" earned her something, but Quorra refused to think that as a job. It was her pleasure to help with the ISO case.

That day, she had learned she was out of fresh clothing due to an unfortunate accident with the laundry machine and a pair of red socks. She, sadly, did not realize the color from one item could transfer to others, so she had many pink things now instead of white things. She had just begun to experiment with lighter colors, too. Sam told her they could go shopping, but knowing him, he probably forgot. He worked so hard, he often forgot things he said. Quorra understood and knew he just needed to be reminded.

However, that day, he did not answer his cell phone, nor his office phone. His secretary said he was working alone that afternoon ( _"he's missing two meetings already!"_ ) so Quorra knew exactly where he was: the laser lab. He was working on the Grid again, she knew. That made her head throb with a headache. Sam gave her a lot of those, even though she thought Dr. Gibbs said she was very healthy. She dreaded the idea that headaches were not an illness and were common. They were very unpleasant.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Quorra," the secretary said automatically as Quorra entered ENCOM's main business tower. She smiled politely at the woman, not willing to fight to find her voice today. She didn't really like the secretary too much. She was very… snippy. Quorra stood by the elevator, waiting patiently as a stranger who had entered the building after Quorra had reached the desk and began to talk to the secretary.

"Hi," the woman said, smiling nervously. She had very strange hair, Quorra noted, so without really thinking about it, she found herself stopping to listen to her speak to the secretary. "I'm looking for Thomas Devlin. Do you know where I can find him?"

"Unfortunately, Mr. Devlin is out for lunch at the moment."

"I'm his girlfriend. I, uh, really need to speak with him." Quorra brightened; she was a girlfriend, too.

The secretary spared the strange-haired-woman a look that didn't look very friendly. "One moment," she said simply. She picked up the phone and pressed a button.

The woman stood there, shifting on her feet awkward. Quorra watched, curious. The elevator dinged and the doors opened, but she didn't feel like leaving just yet.

"Mr. Flynn seems to have asked Mr. Devlin to accompany him. They're not sure where they are in the building," the secretary said at last. She didn't seem very concerned.

Flynn? As in… Sam Flynn? Quorra tilted her head, interest definitely peeked now. The girlfriend at the desk wilted visibly, distressed.

"C-can I look for him?" she asked, sounding desperate.

The secretary pursed her lips. "I'm afraid not. You should come back at another time, miss."

The woman at the counter looked like she was ready to continue the discussion, but finally gave up. "…Thanks," she said, pushing away from the desk. She adjusted the strap of her bag and looked ready to leave.

Quorra had yet to help a human in the real world, as of that moment. She never really interacted with strangers, considering she didn't really know the area and there were so many of them. Sam told her while it might have been possible to know the names of every program on the street (pre-C.L.U. era of course), it would not be possible here. Quorra didn't like that at all. She wanted to know people. And most certainly wanted to help people if she could.

So, without thinking too much about it, Quorra walked over to the departing woman. This world was her world as well now, so… this person was also her fellow peer. This was the right thing to do.

"Excuse me." The woman turned around, surprised. Quorra continued, forcing herself to be brave. "I-I overheard your conversation. You are looking for Sam Flynn?"

"Um, well, sort of," the woman began hesitantly. She looked like she didn't know if she wanted to say anything else; Quorra could understand why. She knew this was rather rude of her to ask the woman to begin with. "I'm looking for my boyfriend, Tom. He's working with Mr. Flynn… apparently." Quorra didn't know why the woman looked so irritated by that. Sam was a very nice man.

Quorra smiled instead of commenting on that reaction. "I am headed to meet Sam now. Would you like to see if your friend is with him?"

The woman just stared at her, making her feel like she had done something wrong. "Uh… do you work here?" she asked, sounding like she didn't believe it was possible.

That was understandable, of course. She didn't wear suits like Sam did. "No, but I have clearance. See?" Quorra held up a white badge Sam had given her, which he called a 'Go-Anywhere-You-Want' badge for ENCOM's buildings. She only used it to find Sam when she wanted to talk to him, though. She smiled at the other woman. "If he is with Sam, then he's down at the laser laboratory."

"Laser?" the woman repeated, louder, alarmed. "Whoa. That's… strange. Tom's a junior programmer." A typical User then.

Quorra nodded, considering their options. Starting with Sam would be the best idea. "Well, let us see if Sam is there first. He will know where Mr. Devlin is," she said. She walked into the elevator, turning around to stare at the other woman, patient.

After a second of considering, the woman also walked onto the elevator. The doors closed and she looked up at Quorra. "Thank you. I appreciate it," she said, smiling. She had a nice smile.

Quorra hesitated. She knew how to react to this. She _did_. "Ah… you are welcome," she stuttered. There, she said it. She felt immensely relieved, looking away to catch her bearings. Yes, this wasn't hard at all.

"My name's Amy Talbot," the woman offered after another second. She extended her hand toward Quorra.

The ISO stared at the hand, her mind going back to etiquette lessons with Flynn. Her heart ached, quite like her head. It had been so much easier to do this with Sam back on the Grid, because the Grid was where Quorra belonged.

"I am… Quorra," she said, accepting the handshake. She even smiled, though she knew it probably didn't look very honest.

They went down another floor and the silence in the little car was stifling. "So, ah, are you… um, Mr. Flynn's girlfriend?" Amy asked after a moment, awkward.

Quorra considered what those words meant. "…Not… exactly," she admitted. She tried to remember what people on TV said when asked that question. It didn't really happen a lot, this sort of questioning; mostly people were already together on the shows Quorra snuck past Sam to watch. "We don't have sex if that's what you mean."

Amy turned a bright shade a red. Was that what Quorra looked like sometimes? "Oh! No!" Amy sputtered, looking terribly embarrassed. "Uh, I just meant, um—! Sorry for prying." She looked away to drop the conversation.

She had said something wrong. Quorra inhaled sharply, looking away. She didn't remember learning about conversing with other women. She knew men were very open about sex (she had yet to really understand what that even was; Sam told her repeatedly that the scenes on TV were faked, so she wasn't even sure if the actions were related to the real thing), so perhaps women were not open to it. She'd have to ask Sam later about it to make sure.

The woman was peering at her strangely after a moment. Quorra turned, defensive, but the other woman smiled kindly. "You have very pretty eyes," Amy said. She sounded polite. Quorra smiled back immediately. She knew how to respond to compliments. She _was_ getting better at this after all.

"Thank you," she replied. She paused; when you received a compliment, you gave one back. Quorra peered at Amy, considering. The only really strange thing about her that stuck out to Quorra was her hair, short and black mostly, but it had blue on the top parts. "I like your hair. It has multiple colors. How do you do that?"

Amy frowned, making Quorra nervous as they went down another floor. "Um, dye it you mean?" she offered, making a strange face.

Quorra blanched. " _Die_ it? You kill it?" she asked, astonished. She knew it could be cut painlessly from the body, but if it didn't feel pain, how could you kill it?

The human stared at her blankly for a few seconds, before an amused look appeared on her face. "…Aha, you're foreign, aren't you," Amy said, laughing. Quorra hesitated; was it that obvious she wasn't… normal? Oh, no. Amy didn't seem alarmed. Instead, she pointed at her head obligingly. "I colored my hair."

"Oh!" Quorra said, brightly. She paused, considering the implications of what that meant. "…With markers?"

She had no idea why Amy burst out laughing and remained laughing until they reached the lab entrance. Quorra tried to remember if she had told a joke, but nothing really struck her as amusing in what she said. That meant she had made another social error. Darn.

"We're here," Quorra said, knowing she was turning red in the face again. She hoped she could at least distract the human away from the uttered mistake.

"Thank you again," Amy said, smiling politely. They both exited the elevator, Quorra leading them through the maze of boxes. She had been there several days earlier and previous times before that. Sam often went there to hide from his co-workers, apparently, so Quorra quickly learned to look there for him if he was missing otherwise.

"Oh… wait…" Amy suddenly said again. Quorra stopped when the other woman stopped. Amy was looking down into her bag, her expression full of alarm.

"Yes?" Quorra asked, frowning.

"Oh, shit," Amy exclaimed. She was struggling with something in her square bag. "How long was this on? !"

Quorra walked over, curious. "What was on?"

Gritting her teeth, Amy fixed adjusting something that was wrong in the bag. "The Wi-Fi connection on my laptop," Amy explained. She sounded frustrated. "Fuck. That's going to waste the battery like crazy. I must have hit the button on the way over…"

"Is that a problem?" Quorra asked. She knew that humans used computers to work all the time; obviously, since they were Users. There were many other computers around them, however. Perhaps the laptop was special.

"N-no…" Amy looked very concerned, finally allowing them to walk ahead. She kept shooting worried glances at her bag. "At least I don't think it is."

If Sam let her, Quorra would have to see if she could get the woman another computer, if needed. It seemed very important. "We're here," she announced, as they walked down the aged staircase. She could hear a computer running and people talking. They turned the corner, past a bunch of boxes, Amy right behind her.

And then, as she looked down the path, she saw Sam standing there with another man seated at the desk. She wasn't looking at them for long, however.

The laser behind them tilted upright and Quorra had only the time to shout Sam's name when suddenly—they were gone.

" _No_!"

 **0000**

The light. The light. The glorious, saving light.

It returned.

He had been drowning in yet another system failure. Whatever computer Amy Talbot had stuck him in, it was far less stable than the other one had been. She told him it was temporary, so he hoped she would move fast.

Tron winced and did his best not to see more innocent programs swept up by the Virus as it seeped into the new system. The screams—he couldn't bear them.

 _  
**HURRY, AMY.**   
_

She didn't reply, but he knew she was probably moving as quickly as she could. Because she was kind and was trying to help him. Why, he couldn't fathom. It didn't seem logical. Then again, Users were rarely logical.

" _They are imperfect, because they were not crafted with purposes. Unlike_ us _, Tron. We… we can be perfected, while they cannot."_

Rinzler growled lowly, gripping at his head—where had his helmet gone? He was too exposed.

The ground was growing black around him. He saw the world yet again crumbling but—

And then he saw it. He saw it past the I/O connection, beyond the death and despair. Tron stood up, disbelieving his own sensors.

He had seen the light before. It seemed like an impossibly long time since it had appeared before. The light. The light in the Sea.

It had saved him, drawn him from the waters. Brought him outside the Grid, into Amy and Tom's hands.

What was it?

Rinzler scrambled forward, not caring that every step he made set black marring footsteps deeper into the surface of the system. He didn't care what it was. All that mattered was that last time—

 _He saw something. Something bright. Beyond the Seas. Beyond the Grid. Beyond the edges of the Creator's laws—_

He had been there before, below the light. He could touch it. He could escape this dying world, again, like had the waters.

There was no other option. Survival—

 _No_! Tron fought the urge to reach for the light. He didn't belong in the realm of the living, not after everything he had done, what he had failed to do—

Rinzler hissed and snarled, reaching out further and further. He didn't care. He wanted to live. He had to. He was not made to derezz. He was made to live, to fulfill a high purpose!

He ensnared his grasp in the light, letting it lift him out of the dying system. He didn't belong there. He had to live. He had to—

And then he was—

 **0000**

Amy had no idea what she had just walked into.

She had thought she had seen a man standing at the back of the room with a bunch of computers and what had looked like a freaking plastic cannon that was glowing, but as soon as she had blinked, the man was gone. The cannon remained, but the entire side of the room was empty of people now. Quorra made a horrible sound that seemed like a strangled scream and she ran toward the empty spot.

Apparently, she had seen the man and glowing cannon, too. Or so Amy had hoped.

Something beeped in her bag. Breath caught in her throat, Amy tore the bag open to grab her laptop. There wasn't time to waste. There were computers around. Sh-she could transfer Rinzler over for now to one of them and then find Tom and—

But as she opened the screen, she stopped considering plans.

"…Rinzler?" she breathed, staring at the screen.

…Why was the terminal suddenly gone?

Why… why was the screen suddenly not freaking out from the virus? There were still black splotches all over, but it wasn't spreading as quickly.

And then, in the corner of the screen she saw it. Four bars out of five, bright green, mockingly flashing—

Oh, no.

Oh, no—!

"The Wi-Fi!" Amy gasped. What had it done in the short time it had been on? Why was it still on? Hadn't she turned it off? Unless—unless he could get out in that short amount of time. Could he? Oh no—

" _Sam_! Oh, _no_! This is terrible!" Quorra was shouting. She had run over to the computers on the desk, looking at the screens in horror. She whirled around at the cannon thing, very upset. "Oh, no, oh, no, this can't be happening. I-I can't—I can't do—do this—!"

Amy moved forward carefully, heart racing. She needed to put her laptop down to check it. Something wasn't right. _Nothing_ seemed right.

"Quorra?" she asked, her voice shaky. There was nothing but computers where they were. Where… where had the person gone? "Where's Mr. Flynn?"

Finally turning around, Quorra stared at her, mouth agape. She looked down at the computer monitors behind Amy and Amy followed her stare. It looked like an old computer, but the screens were on. She could see data streams on the foggy glass. It looked very complicated.

Taped to the side of the monitor were a lot of sticky notes, full of numbers and scribbled notes.

Amy only saw one word that really meant anything to her. When she read it, she stopped breathing.

 _THE GRID._

 **0000**

Tom found himself sitting on the cold rocks for a bit longer than he had hoped. Sam was doing something very odd to the other rocks. His fingers had automatically summoned what looked like a glowing circle on the side of the boulder and he was apparently trying to make it do something more than glow. As he worked at it, both he and Tom started to talk after about an hour of silence. The only thing they need was a can of beer in their hands and it almost looked like two guys tinkering inside a garage sharing stories from their childhood. Minus the garage and plus an obsidian wasteland backdrop.

"So… your dad built a world within a computer," Tom began, taking a deep breath. "Nice. My dad prints posters."

"Ha!" Sam barked out a laugh. He seemed to be fighting the glowing circle, but probably because he was learning as he went with the strange apparatus. "Yeah. This was his dirty secret. Apparently got sucked into another computer before this one a few years before he built this place. The laser lab was an ENCOM mini-project. They never expected him to use it like he did. They don't _know_ that he did, actually."

Tom shook his head, overwhelmed. "Just… wow." Understatement of the year, that was.

"Made programs, made a city…" Sam explained further, sounding wistful. "He was the Creator to them. A real god."

The implications in that… it was astounding. "…What happened here?" Tom asked at great length, gazing around at the bruised sky.

Sam stopped working for a moment, but then continued. "Bad stuff. They threw a _coup_ , locked dad out from the I/O Tower, and trapped him here," he replied shortly. "I… found him twenty years later."

Kevin Flynn had been missing for two decades. Tom looked up at Sam, amazed as well as… sympathetic.

"In… here?" he asked. That seemed… crazy. Impossible to fathom.

Unbelievably heartbreaking.

"Yeah." Sam stopped working on the circle. He stared at the rock, his expression guarded. "Not my favorite birthday. Though, it was nice to see the old man after I thought he had been dead for so long."

"I'm sorry," Tom replied, meaning it. That had to have been horrible to go through.

"Nah. It's okay," Sam said, recovering abruptly. He kept tinkering, his expression continuing to be guarded. His tone became casual, though his next words made Tom flinch. "You mentioned Rinzler. What's up with that?"

It had taken two hours, but Tom wasn't really surprised Sam eventually went back to his strange utterances. He dreaded having to explain this. It would be self-implicating on so many levels. Then again, he was sitting in the Flynns' darkest secret, so maybe, maybe, they could all walk away from this even if Sam discovered the hacking.

Hopefully.

"You know him?" Tom asked instead, trying to avoid the inevitable.

Sam shrugged, his nonchalantness now stiffer. "Knew him. Met him a few times." He paused. "Tried to kill me and my dad, and all."

Tom had never really thought about what Rinzler had been capable of, considering he had always seen the program as either a prank or—well, a program.

Now, the idea of such a psychotic mind being a physical being here…

Yeah. The homicidal thing wasn't too difficult to fathom. Tom looked away, heart racing.

"I—I see," he stammered. Oh, he was very glad they had landed in this computer and not Amy's.

"He didn't used to be insane or homicidal, or so dad told me," Sam added. He sounded bitter. "Turns out he was actually a reprogrammed friend of his."

That made sense. "Rinzler was… Tron," Tom said, struggling to get around everything he was being told.

"Yeah," Sam replied. He looked at Tom, frowning. "The video games were based on him. He was… a good guy. A warrior for the Users. He… fought for us."

A hero being turned into a villain. It was so Disney. "…But he became evil?" Tom asked, confused.

"He was turned evil, apparently. Some guy messed with his coding." Sam shrugged again and focused on the circle. "Made him into a rabid pet dog."

That was a lovely image to conceive. Tom looked away again, mentally going over the conversations he had had with Rinzler and Tron. Not everything made sense, but some things were very frequent in his ramblings. Rinzler had mentioned several names, but the one name he always mentioned, the one name that hadn't been brought up in conversation yet—

"…C.L.U.," Tom said, mostly to himself. Why did that name make him feel even colder than he was already?

He regretted saying it out loud, however. Sam whirled around, eyes huge. "What?" he demanded.

Tom stared at him, bracing himself. "The guy. His name was C.L.U., wasn't it?" he asked, deciding to be honest.

There was a long, _long_ pause. "… _How_ do you know that name?" Sam asked finally, looking bewildered and alarmed. Tom couldn't blame him.

"I think…" Tom swallowed, nervous. "I think I've met Rinzler." _Met_ being the operative word.

"You _what_?" Sam exclaimed, now very alarmed. "Where? !"

"It's a long story. Not as long as yours, though." Tom scratched his head, awkward. "I, uh… I'm going to get in trouble for telling you, actually. But I guess after all this, I owe you an explanation."

Sam's wary alarm did not fade. "Rinzler's dead, Tom. I-I saw him die," he said, unnerved.

Tom tried to think of a way to explain himself. Saying something about the hacking could really screw himself over, but…

"Well, the guy me and my girlfriend have been talking to on her computer is as alive as a computer program can be," he said, struggling to find words. "Calls himself Rinzler, but sometimes Tron. Really, really messed up. He was getting better, but he kept talking about the Grid. And .. And… and your dad."

Sam drew back, eyes growing even large.

"What about dad?" he asked, quieter now. He looked like he was waiting for something. Tom didn't know what.

"…He died… fighting C.L.U.," Tom replied, also quieter. This was probably the most awkward conversation he had ever had. Even talking to Amy's parents hadn't been this intense.

Sam's eyes changed again. He frowned, now wary again. "Rinzler was dead before that," he said, challenging.

"I don't know how he found out then," Tom said, honestly. He didn't have a clue about Rinzler anymore, or what he was capable of. All of this was completely beyond him at this point.

Sam looked contemplative, looking away from Tom. "…Maybe the explosion gave it away," he murmured.

A word like explosion never sat well with Tom. "What?" he asked, bewildered.

Turning, Sam motioned at the area around them. "Look at this place. C.L.U. really messed it up when he overthrew my dad as the boss around here, but this… this is because…" Sam's frown deepened. "Dad died."

Tom stared at the other man, the sympathy returning. "…What did he do?" he asked quietly.

Sam shook his head. "I can't even describe it." He smiled wryly. "When dad died, he took out a lot of the Grid with him, to let me and Quorra escape. To kill C.L.U. too. The Grid's an unstable mess. I wanted to fix it to go back here." He looked at the ground, smile fading. "Came back a bit too soon."

"That was my fault, wasn't it?" Tom asked, suddenly realizing that it probably was. When he had overridden the controls, he had activated some, too. Sam mentioned the laser was responsible for sending them here. If only he had seen that the laser control had been activated…

"No. I should have warned you," Sam said, shaking his head again. He smiled at the other programmer. "I should have moved the damn laser somewhere else, that's what I should have done." Sighing, he continued to work with the circle. "It's okay though. We have several more hours to get moving."

That was not what Tom wanted to hear. That sounded absolutely menacing. "H-hours?" he repeated. He refused to acknowledge that he squeaked when he was scared.

"The tower closes in about a day's time here. Once it's closed, it can only be opened from the outside," Sam explained, pointing at the tower of light in the distance. "Quorra was in the lab, but she doesn't know how to do programming at all. Not like Users, at least." Tom shuddered, feeling hopeless, even as Sam added, "We're on our own, Tom."

Yeah, this was definitely not adding up to be Tom's favorite day. He rubbed his hand over his face. "…Great." Looking up, he frowned. "How are we doing that again?"

Without much prompt, Sam turned around, holding out two identical slim and black sticks. "With these," he said, suddenly sounding very confident. The circle of light disappeared from the rock and Sam seemed to produce the two sticks from literal nowhere.

"… _Where_ did you get those?" Tom asked, standing up stiffly. He stared at the items warily. Something told him that the glowing circle had produced them, but he didn't know how. Then again, nothing made a lot of sense lately.

"User magic, my friend, which I've been learning through the coding at home," Sam replied, grinning. He held out one of the black sticks to Tom, and the other programmer took it warily. It was heavy. "This here is one of the main modes of transportation off the Grid. We'll need them to get over the Sea."

Tom _stared_ at him. "So we're using magical sticks to fly us across then?"

"Ha. Yeah," Sam said, chuckling. He held the stick up for him to observe. "Basically, you take off running, crack the stick, and well, you start flying in a miniature plane."

There was a lot in that explanation that didn't sit right with Tom. He stared at his boss, feeling light headed again.

"…Seriously?" he asked, hoping to hear another option was available.

Sam just grinned, merciless. "Dad's design. Light jet." He waved the stick around, beginning to move toward the ledge over the Sea. "Get used to the weirdness until we get out of here. Fighting it will only hurt your mind."

Probably the only sane advice he had received in over two hours, Tom realized. "Right…" He stared to turn, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. He looked up, surprised. "Hey…"

"What?" Sam called, glancing over his shoulder.

"Are those light jets?" Tom asked, pointing at the glowing objects in the distance. They looked like planes and they were approaching their position quickly.

"What? What are you talking—?" Sam began as he went to look at where Tom was pointing, but suddenly, his expression morphed in shock. "Oh, _shit_!"

"Wha—?" Tom began to ask, alarmed, looking away from the glowing specters. He had thought Sam knew there were other programs here. It was sort of obvious… wasn't it?

Sam did not look pleased. At all. He began to move backwards. " _Run_! We have to go now!" he shouted, very alarmed as he looked at the approaching objects.

He took off running and Tom gaped after him, adrenaline surging once again. "What? ! I don't know how to use this!" he exclaimed. He took off running after Sam, knowing that was the only option he had. If Sam was going to run from the glowing planes, well, so was Tom.

"You learn as you go!" Sam shot back, he was holding his stick like a baton. He was way more in shape than Tom was. "You ever ride a motorcycle?"

"No! I drive a Hatchback!" Tom yelped. The Sea ledge was approaching quickly into his line of sight. If he turned around, he was certain he was going to see the planes closer than before. Oh, man, this was not good—!

Sam didn't let him ruin the moment with panic. "Run, leap, crack, fly. Do it when I do!" he shouted. They were only yards from the edge now.

"What are those things? !" Tom demanded, terrified. He fumbled with the stick. He couldn't imagine it turning into a plane. This was insane!

"Remember the security programs I asked you to override?" Sam called.

"Y-yeah? !"

Sam looked at him over his shoulder. "Those are those programs!"

Tom gaped after the CEO, his fear replaced by incredulous anger. "You have _GOT_ to be _KIDDING_ _ME_ , Flynn!" he screamed. Oh, yes, he was so fucking quitting this job if they survived this—

"NOW!" Sam shouted, leaping into the open air over the Sea. There was a flash of light from Sam, but Tom was more concerned with his own freefall.

He jumped into the air, but somehow remembering to do that plus crack the stick in half at the same time was too much for his brain. He began to fall downwards immediately, but Tom's hands thankfully reacted. The stick broke far easier than he had been expecting such a solid object to break. There was a large flash of light, blinding him—

And then he was in the air, soaring. Tom gasped for air, his lungs spasming. He felt encased, out of no where, his body almost straightened out in the air. In front of him, his hands were braced over what seemed to be handles. Wings spread out on each of his sides and he could look down to see the waves of the Sea of Simulation splashing up, far away now.

Well, he was in a plane.

Tom was not a happy nerd.

"Oh, my God, oh, my God, I'm going to die!" he wailed. All he could see was glowing bluish lights everywhere. Where were the controls? Was this all he had to do? The slightest movement of his hands set the craft dipping forward. "Oh, shit!"

Out of no where, Sam came up on his side, scaring him. "Keep it up, Tom! You got this!" he called, grinning. He was in his own plane—Light Jet, whatever. He looked like he was having _fun_.

"I'm going to die!" Tom shouted, panicking. He tried to crane his neck around and immediately regretted it. "Oh, man, those things are still coming!"

"They won't outpace us. I upped the speed of these thing," Sam replied, confident. They both had to shout, the wind and waves were so loud. "Any User can affect the Grid. It's like a playground for us."

Images of WWII dogfights filled Tom's mind. "I really, _really_ doubt those guys want to play around." Tom shot the CEO a fearful look, a new thought capturing his immediate attention. "Sam—what if they kill us here?"

Sam hesitated, his grin finally fading. "…This isn't _The_ _Matrix_ , Tom," he said, grim. "Death is death here."

Somehow he wasn't surprised. "Oh, man…" Tom wheezed. His heart couldn't take any more of this.

"Keep flying straight," Sam said, moving forward a little. He seemed like a natural at this. "We'll get there in a few hours."

Oh, God, _hours_? Tom whimpered and tried to keep flying straight, even though the structure wanted to dip down. This was just… a computer. He wasn't a program. He was a User. He could do this. He was the boss here. He… he could do this.

The light seemed terribly far away.

 **0000**

He had not felt the Grid in many megacycles. Everything about it was different, however. Devastation. Worse than the Virus. Here, the Virus only spread a few feet from where he stood, the land already anticipating its infection, apparently.

Standing there, Rinzler realized one simple face.

He was alive.

Helmet reforming, he relished in the darkness it granted him. He could see out into the Grid's great wastelands. Everything was in ruins, but that was expected. He had felt the resulting devastation from Flynn only minutes after he had began to sink further into the Sea. The Creator had made the ultimate sacrifice.

Users. Sentimental fools.

They were not his main concern right now. He was not alone, not here, not even in the wastelands outside Tron City, which remained ruins even now.

Light Jets overhead. He braced himself.

Two broke formation and came down upon his location. Rinzler watched them as the jets vanished and two programs appeared. Faces missing, parts of their coding falling to pieces as they walked toward him.

One approached, made fearless by his disorder. "Program. Trespassing," the program said. His voice was just as ruined. "Halt for deresolution."

Unstable models. The aftermath of the final blast. Rinzler reached for his discs—and then realized he was missing them.

Son of Flynn's fault.

Snarling, Rinzler braced himself as the security programs leaped at him. He grabbed one by the throat, snapping limbs as the body flew at him. He threw the disintegrating program away, anticipating his partner. They couldn't fight, but they tried. They were running on last issued commands, but they were broken. Rinzler didn't need his discs to rip their throats apart. Their coding flowed over his hands.

 _Yes_ , he was _alive_.

Sending the last one falling, Rinzler looked up. He saw the other jets fly off. In the distance, he could now see further jets of a different color. White. They were headed for the Tower. _Users_. Rinzler watched them fly off, other red Light Jets on their tails.

Somewhere within his coding, he realized he had to follow them.

He grabbed the Light Jet from the recently de-rezzed security program.

He would just have to meet them before they got there.

 

* * *

 **End** _**Chapter Ten** _ **.**

* * *

 **  
**

 

 **A/Ns** :  
\- "Closes in a day's time" – OKAY. So. I was confused again by the dialogue in Legacy. When Flynn mentions the portal is closing in "eight hours" I believe he was referring to how long they had at that point right there. Sam arrived hours earlier than that, so I'm making stuff up about how long the portal actually stays open. XD  
-In case you were still confused after the last ten chapters, the "Light" Tronzler is talking about/using is the Internet (wifi). Thanks for mentioning it in the movie, Sam. ;) That single line led to the creation of this story haha.


	11. Chapter 11

 

Moving on weak legs, Amy tried to figure out what to do. She circled the desk and took in the scene in front of her. Quorra was standing in the middle of the room, looking like she either wanted to scream or cry, and Amy was feeling a mixture of her own panic. Shaking, she set her laptop on the desk. She felt like she was dreaming.

What _could_ she do?

"…Oh… God." Amy gazed in horror at the screen, just as blank as it had been before. "What just happened?"

Quorra turned around, alarmed. "What?" she croaked, looking absolutely terrified.

Amy stammered, her mind going over many things all at once. "M-my computer… it's… it's working again," she said, settling on that problem. Why was it working? It shouldn't have been working.

Her concerns weren't very important to the strange woman, apparently. "I…" Quorra turned away, a hand going to her head. She looked shell-shocked. "I need to find Sam. I-I need to reverse this…!"

Knowing she was on her own, Amy ignored the other woman. She focused on the laptop entirely. "I-it should be just a terminal window," she whispered to herself. She got the window up again, hands trembling. "Oh, God. Ohhhh, God."

 _Query: Tron? Rinzler, are you there?_

No answer. Amy felt a cold chill sweep through her.

 _Query: Rinzler? Please? Hello?_

Nothing.

Amy stood there, trying to figure out exactly what had happened. Nothing was… making any sense. It was like he had just… vanished.

Unless… her fears were correct. Amy forgot how to breathe.

"The light," she whispered, eyes searing. She stood back, realizing the truth. "He meant the Internet. The Internet is on. Shit, why didn't I _think_ of that? !" She spun around, frantic. "Quorra, please, can I use this computer? !" She had to check to see if the program had actually just transferred over to the new system. She could handle that. She just needed to—

"Wh—what?" Quorra exclaimed. She gave Amy a wary look. "You cannot use this. Th-this is a private console for a project—"

"Please!" Amy begged, stepping closer. "One of my computer programs just jumped ship through the Wi-fi on my laptop! Please, let me log onto this, just for a second! I have to get him off of there!"

"I cannot let you do that," Quorra said, firmer. Why she wasn't questioning Amy's statement only partially bothered Amy. She pointed at the exit, her limbs trembling in a similar way to Amy's. "You must leave, now."

"Lady, come on!" Amy shouted, clutching at the laptop instinctually. "He's infected! He has a virus in him, so it's going to corrupt the whole—!"

And then she remembered. Looking up at the desk, she saw the little notes again. They were taunting her. Haunting her thoughts.

 _THE GRID_ shone up, black on yellow, and Amy stared at the note, part of her mind freezing up.

 _Oh, no._

"…The… Grid…" she repeated out loud, terrified. She had to be crazy. Rinzler was crazy. He couldn't have actually meant something real when he rambled about—about this, could he?

Perhaps she _had_ just fulfilled the promise she had made to Tron after all.

"What did you just say?" she heard Quorra ask behind her. Turning, Amy saw the woman was now giving her a strangely tense look.

Amy tried to find her voice. "…You're… you're building the Grid?" she asked, voice cracking.

Quorra's defensive look only increased. "How do you know that word?" she demanded harshly. "Who are you?"

"I-I… I heard it from Rinzler," Amy said, grasping her weary head. "He kept talking about it and—"

Amy had not been expecting Quorra to go from slightly panicky to full out Xena Warrior Princess on her ass after she started to explain. Quorra grabbed Amy by the collar of her jacket, slamming her against a support pillar. Amy gasped for breath as the not-so-meek woman hauled her up a good five inches off the ground.

"HOW DID YOU LEARN THAT NAME? !" Quorra demanded, face marred by a look of suspicion and anger.

Amy scrambled to push the other woman off her. "HE TOLD ME! _CHRIST_! Let me go!" she shot back, clawing at the ghost-white hands near her throat.

Quorra only pushed back harder. " _He_ is the program you lost? !" she asked, threatening.

" _Yes_!"

The look of suspicion only got darker on Quorra's face. "That is impossible! He is dead!" she snapped.

"Not yet!" Amy cried. She tried to get footing on the pillar, but she kept slipping. "I was trying to save him, so I thought I'd bring him to ENCOM, to try to get a system he'd work better on! I had no idea the Grid was actually real!"

To Amy's relief, Quorra let her go. Amy dropped down almost all the way to the ground, gasping for breath. Quorra stepped back, looking incredibly dangerous for such a frail appearance.

"He is a monster," she said darkly. "He murdered thousands of innocent programs!"

Amy stared at the deranged woman, scared witless. What had she just walked into? "…What?" she stammered, slowly inching away. Her eyes darted to the laptop on the table. "Wh-what do you mean, murdered? Th-they're machines. Not even! They're computer programs." Resolve suddenly reformed in her heart. Amy moved past Quorra, focusing on the Grid computer. "I-I have to get him out of this! He's unstable anyway. How do you work this? !"

Quorra's hand lashed out and grabbed her wrist. "Do not tamper with it! That's dangerous!" she chided. Amy yanked her hand back, her own anger bubbling up.

"How is it dangerous? !" she demanded. It was a computer! Not some weapon!

"Because—!" Quorra started to say, but her strength wavered. She stared at Amy, now more afraid than angry. "Sam is in there. I do not want you to mess things up if he could be hurt by it! I don't even know who you are!"

There were a lot of things wrong with what that implied. Sam Flynn, CEO of the company, was somehow depending on her not to screw around with a computer… because he was inside of it.

Amy stared at Quorra, her mind trying desperately to wrap itself around what she was being told.

"…Wait," she said, holding up a hesitant hand. "Someone… is in there? As in… _INSIDE_ the computer?"

Quorra stood there, not saying anything. She looked miserable. Amy could only stare back, equally helpless.

This was crazy to consider. But this was not the first time she had heard this story… of humans being put inside a computer. Amy refused to believe Tom's theory that Rinzler was just a prank, but… this was… too much.

But the look on Quorra's face told her that this wasn't a prank. The light and disappearing man… that wasn't faked.

This was actually happening.

"…Rinzler… was… right?" she said mostly to herself. She stared past Quorra, horror flooding her veins. "K-Kevin Flynn… made something that drags people into a computer?"

Quorra said nothing. She looked away, jaw tense. Amy wanted to beg her for some sort of answer, but the only sound in the room were the computers humming quietly. Turning around, Amy stared at the desk.

"I-I have to call Tom," she said, heart encased in ice. She fumbled with unsteady hands to retrieve her cell phone. Flipping it open, she dialed one of the only numbers she ever really called lately. "Hold on, I have to—"

Tom's ringtone was a stupid little tune, something from an 80s cartoon theme song. Amy hated it, but she knew what it sounded like.

That's why when she heard the music filter up from the table in front of her, Amy almost dropped her phone.

Quorra peered around her, alarmed at the noise. Amy just froze as the music continued. Slowly, she lowered her phone from her face and leaned over the desk. His phone was right there, next to the keyboard, hidden by some papers. Amy stared at the device buzzing on the table and slowly, slowly, felt her body go numb.

Oh… no.

Oh, God, no.

"Tom…" she breathed, horror flashing across her face. She dropped her phone. She ignored Quorra, starting to hyperventilate. She picked up Tom's cell phone, ceasing the call. She stared at the phone, speechless.

How—how did he get involved in this? Tom was in programming—not—not freaky laser beam studies!

"We have to get them out, now, please," she found herself saying. She stumbled back into the desk, shaking even more. All she could think about was Tom somehow being stuck inside a death trap. Rinzler had told her everything about how awful that place was, how dangerous. "I beg you. Help me."

"I-I don't know how to get them out," Quorra replied, eyes wide with her own fear. Suddenly, the warrior was gone and Amy found herself facing down a similarly afraid woman. "They went in too soon. It was an accident."

Amy struggled to even find a _reply_ to that. "Th-then—how—? !"

"There is a way to escape from the inside, don't worry," Quorra said, though she sounded like she was just as worried. She rung her hands, gritting her teeth anxiously. "We will just wait for them." Her lack of confidence did not make Amy feel better.

"How long does that take?" Amy asked, hugging herself.

Quorra hesitated. "I… am not sure. Minutes… on this end."

This was crazy. Amy closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. "J-Jesus… how long will it take them to get to the escape place?" She couldn't even imagine what the inside of a computer would even look like.

"I'm not sure." Quorra's jaw tensed. "The Grid… is not stable any more."

Amy thought back to days ago, when she was talking to Rinzler about just that very thing. "…Because Flynn is dead," she replied plainly, realizing that had to be it.

"Rinzler told you this?" Quorra asked sharply, frown returning.

"Y-yeah." Amy blanched, realizing that something else was wrong. "Oh, God… and now Rinzler is there, too!"

Lost in the Grid, the unstable Grid… oh, this was beyond awful. Amy dropped her face into her hands. What had she done, coming here? She might have ruined everything. What if Rinzler brought the Virus to the Grid? What if it hurt Tom?

Quorra stepped forward. "He is a dangerous program, Amy Talbot, believe me," she said gravely. "He tried to kill all three of us—Sam, Flynn and myself—many times. He is a monster."

She could imagine it. But she didn't want to. Amy shook her head slowly. "…But… what about Tron?"

"Tron?" Quorra repeated. There was a startled surprise in her expression. Then again, Amy had to reason she probably wasn't expecting Amy to know those names. She looked away, fighting to remain passive. "He… he is gone. He was reformatted by C.L.U."

There was a bitterness in her voice. The familiarity with both C.L.U. (whoever that guy actually was) and Rinzler alarmed Amy. Quorra apparently knew Tron as well. Reformatted… probably meant brainwashed? Perhaps? Amy took a deep breath, trying to keep up with all of it.

"I heard. But…" Amy hesitated. "I've _spoken_ with Tron." Or at least, a remnant of him.

 _That_ definitely threw Quorra for a loop. "What?" she asked, very surprised now.

Amy clasped hands, feeling terribly cold. "R-Rinzler and Tron are like alter-egos or something. Whenever I talked to Rinzler, sometimes Tron would appear. Vice versa." She bit her lip, remembering the difficult conversations she and Tom had sifted through. "It's like he's having an identity crisis."

Quorra stared at her, considering. "…Before… the end… Rinzler attacked C.L.U. in our defense," she said slowly, as if it was difficult to admit it. "It is possible… that Tron took control back. But I would not trust him. Ever."

For some reason, her anger toward Rinzler made Amy feel very defensive. She knew the guy was nuts, but he didn't seem that crazy. This wasn't the time to be worried about it, however. "I don't need to trust him," she said shortly. "I just wanted him to trust me. And now I sent him back into a world falling apart. Great." She sighed, frustrated. "With my boyfriend. Shit." She severely hoped Quorra was just exaggerating about Rinzler being homicidal. She knew for a fact Tom sucked at fighting.

Quorra shook her head. "I would not worry about Rinzler surviving there," she said, frowning deeply. "I am more concerned with the two Users. We must do what we can to get them out, or wait for them."

"Ye—wait." Amy stopped and looked up at Quorra, shocked. "Did you just say Users?"

The only person/people she had heard use that phrase had been—

A… program.

Drawing back slowly, Amy stared at Quorra is dulled shock. Heart beating in her chest like a drum, she saw the woman stare back at her with growing surprise.

"…What are you?"

 **0000**

They made great progress in the first hour. It was much like a slow-paced game of tag; Sam kept a watchful eye on their assailants, but the distance between them was constant. The light in front of them grew larger and larger as they flew, and they began to encounter pillars of floating rocks (or rather, rocks that broke through the surface of the water below). Tom seemed to get the hang of flying, but was still incredibly nervous.

But right at the start of the second hour, Sam began to notice something dismal. His jet was doing its best to fly steady, but he began to notice a slow, but constant decrease of speed. He wasn't the only one to notice.

"I thought you said these were really fast!" Tom exclaimed. The poor guy sounded like he was about to cry or something.

Sam glanced behind him again. The other Light Jets didn't seem to be falling back anymore. They seemed to be catching up, if anything. He cursed lowly.

"Oh, no…" He looked down at the control panels of his own jet and noticed strangely dimming lights. He thought… he thought he had done it right, fixing the coding. Was it not working now? Unless… Sam cursed again. What if by increasing the speed, he had drained their power quicker? Was that how things work here?

"Dad, how did you do this?" he whispered, slowly coming around another pillar of rock.

"What? !" Tom shouted. It was getting difficult to hear each other.

Kevin Flynn wasn't about to come up from the grave and tell his son how to manipulate the Grid correctly. As it was, Sam was just adlibbing their entire escape. Gritting his teeth, Sam wished he knew what to do next.

He was not Kevin Flynn. Of all the times that he wished that he was—

"I-I don't know. I probably messed up making them," he finally said, banking to the left. He shot the approaching programs a wary look. "Come on, just keep going."

"They're catching up!" Tom said loudly. He was trying to force his jet to move faster, but they were slowing down. Sam exhaled sharply.

"Just go! Don't stop!" he ordered.

Maybe if he dropped down, he could circle behind their followers and shoot them from there. It'd be risky to leave Tom out in the open alone, but they didn't have a choice. Sam craned his neck around, trying to get a better look. There was time to waste dwelling on negative what-ifs. They had to—

He looked up just in time to see Tom get hit by a series of blasts from the other jets and crash directly onto the surface of a rock. Sam yelled out, afraid. He wasn't going to let anyone fall behind, not when this was his fault to start with! He should have just deactivated the whole system. Trying to fix it—stupid stupid stupid—!

Sam looked over and saw the beginning of the Tower was only a hundred yards away, but there were many open spaces in between. How it was still standing, he didn't know, considering the blast took out the rest of the Grid. He didn't have time to ponder the workings of the Grid at the moment, however, so he directed his jet downward to the rock.

Thankfully, Tom's jet had taken most of the damage. Tom himself went skidding across the rock surface, yelling out in pain, but alive. Sam dropped down after him, his jet vanishing back into a baton. He looked up at the Tower. They were too far away! There was a chance that they could keep going after this, but not—not if those drones were right on their tail.

Whirling around, Sam looked up at the approaching jets. He reached to his back, eyes set in a firm glare. This was no different than the first time he had arrived on the Grid. It didn't matter if there were more of them than there were of him. He was a User—he was the son of Kevin Flynn. And that mattered.

Two jets approached the pillar first. Sam thought they would just fire at him from the air, but to his surprise, the crafts dematerialized. Two programs leapt down in front of him, stiff and unnatural in their postures.

Sam wanted to meet his opponent bravely and without pause. He disappointed himself when he saw the first program face him and all Sam could do was gape in shock. It wasn't really his fault, however.

The program's face was missing. More than that, from his shoulder down across his chest was a gaping, melting mess. Sam almost dropped his disc in his disgust and shock. The program kept walking, disregarding its damage. How was it still moving? How was it still not de-rezzed?

"Sam!" Tom shouted. He was getting to his feet and he looked at Sam with wild eyes.

Turning around, Sam saw the program and his companion approaching them. Sam shoved his fear aside; he had to focus. It felt like it had been ages since the last time he had been forced to fight with his disc, but the motions returned to him easily. He slung the disc out at the two programs. The one attempted to reach for his own, but it was too late. The program crumbled almost instantly when the disc caught him in the chest, coding flowing out like water, the body collapsing onto the ground. Tom gasped loudly at the sight.

Sam didn't have time to censor this for the newcomer. "Start running for the Tower!" he shouted, leaping up. He caught the disc on the rebound, whirling around to nail the second program in the face. The other jets were quickly approaching the pillar again. There were at least six of them.

Tom was looking out at the path they had to follow. It was severely broken up. "We'll never be able to jump that!" he exclaimed.

"At least get to the ledge!" Sam shot back. He caught the disc again, bracing himself. More programs were arriving. Once they were gone, they could snag more jets and get across.

The only good thing was that _all_ of the programs seemed to be completely distorted. They were on pre-programmed orders, apparently, as they went down to the rock to meet him face to face, disregarding the more convenient Light Jets. That was lucky, Sam had to admit, though this time, the programs all went for their discs to fight. There was only one further off jet headed their way, so Sam decided to focus the fight to what was in front of him.

They were weaker, but there were still many. Sam yelled out as he threw his disc again. He got one more on the arm, sending him flying, but two threw their own discs at him at the same time. Sam dodged the attacks, taking cover behind another outcropping. He tried to reach out to grab his disc as it came flying back, but a stray security program's disc knocked it off course. It went clattering to the ground, skidding several feet away.

Well, that wasn't good. Sam dove forward after the disc, knowing that he was letting his entire side wide open for attack. A rogue disc sliced into the rock inches from his face, but Sam rolled away as more flew at him. He grabbed a stray one to throw back at its owner, but had to use it to block another one flying at his face. Eyes seeking out his prone disc, Sam flung the disc in his hand away, cutting into another program, and tried to reach his weapon.

He only got within two yards of it, arm reaching out to grab it. He heard the sounds of the last jet came upon the rock pillar finally and Sam looked up automatically. He was expecting to see another deformed program to materialize, to join the fray, and try to kill them.

He wasn't expecting to see a lean black figure, white lights adorning his limbs, leap down from the sky, fearlessly landing on top of one of the security programs. Sam yelled in shock as Rinzler— _who else could it have been_ —punched one of the unsuspecting programs through the face.

It was almost embarrassing how quickly Rinzler cleaned up their mess for them.

He had never seen anyone do what Rinzler did in a matter of seconds. He literally tore arms off, faces apart. His hands were hooked like claws, ripping into the security programs. Sam sat there, completely taken back. Sure, Rinzler didn't have any identity discs now, but—

Why was he so violent? He didn't remember… this. Rinzler snarled loudly, kicking another program away, coding spraying out like real blood. Sam shivered. This didn't seem… right. Or natural.

A lucky security program came up behind Rinzler and tried to grab him around the neck. Rinzler deftly moved away in time, the helmet went flying (probably on Rinzler's command) and Rinzler growled even louder, lashing out at the attacker. He behaved like a wolf, or some kind of wild animal.

Trying to stand, Sam looked for Tom. The other programmer was latched onto a rock outcropping, looking stunned. They had to leave, now, when all of their enemies were distracted. Sam got as far as getting upright when he got his feet swept out from beneath him. He saw one of the security programs, still dissolving from the torso up, struggling to knock him over. Disturbed, Sam kicked the program away, but wound up falling over again.

 _There was no time!_ He dodged another flying spray of coding and tried to get over to the other side of the rock.

He didn't make it far. Sam ducked when a disc from one of the programs flew by, but there was only one more scream—and then silence. Scrambling, Sam turned over, eyes seeking out his next opponent. All he saw was a figure in black walking slowly toward him, bare handed, but Sam immediately drew back in fear. His disc lay useless feet away.

Rinzler stopped and looked down at the unarmed User. Sam stared back up at him and suddenly, he felt everything stop.

His helmet was gone, Rinzler's. Sam had never seen him with it off before. Now, he could see his face.

Sam had not been expecting to see… _that_ face.

Seconds past and he knew that he shouldn't have been surprised. Dad had told him about Tron and his origins. He had heard the stories of how they defeated the MCP and who… who made Tron.

But to see Rinzler gazing down with that same face was enough to render Sam speechless.

"…Alan?" he breathed, eyes huge.

Rinzler stared at him and, somewhere, deep within those eyes that should have belonged to Alan Bradley twenty years ago, he could have sworn he saw something _snap_. The lights on his armor flickered from the pale white immediately back to orange red.

Sam had enough time to realize he had made a mistake, when Rinzler lunged.

 **0000**

"Alan?"

Rinzler gazed down upon the User, taking in the details that made up his face and body. He knew the face all too well, but he hadn't been able to place it within his memory files.

As soon as the User spoke, however, there was no longer any doubt. So many thoughts passed through his cortex, but all Rinzler could see, think or feel, was that which was in front of him, looking up at him with an expression of shock.

Sam… Flynn.

Son of Flynn

 _Enemy_.

With a fierce yell, he grabbed the human right off the ground, fist already forming in his free hand. He slammed the human into the rocky wall, letting his clenched fingers strike the User in the face. It didn't break like those damaged guards; that only fueled Rinzler's intent on _making_ it break. With strength he didn't know he had, he flung the User away, enjoying every pained cry, every loud crack as the human broke through fragile stone.

Crossing the distance with incredibly speed, Rinzler caught Sam Flynn again by the throat. He had no weapons ever since this User tried to have him knocked from the flagship deck, but that was fine. He was beginning to enjoy the sensation of tearing and ripping. It felt—more. There was more sensation in it than just a mere disc duel. His face might have been stronger, but Rinzler wanted to see how a User's throat would withstand similar treatment—

"RINZLER, STOP!"

Rinzler paused just enough at the sound of his own designation that Sam Flynn managed to pry his hands loose. The User rolled away, standing upright immediately to fight again.

Turning, Rinzler saw the other last remaining figure standing there. The other User. He stared at him, frightened, but clearly the one who had called out. Rinzler stalked forward to confront him, hands begging for more violence.

"Rinzler," the User began, hands going up in defense as the program stalked toward him. "I-it's me! It's Tom! Tom Devlin!"

A User's name meant nothing to him. They were all the same. They didn't belong here in this world.

But Rinzler found himself stopping short of the man, hands falling, still. He watched the figure in front of him, realizing something.

He knew who this User was.

Rinzler stared down at the human, stunned.

"Savior," he said, so abruptly, he surprised himself.

Tom stared back at him, equally shocked, but probably for different reasons. Rinzler didn't know what to say to him. Thomas Devlin. Amy Talbot.

Saviors.

A fist collided with his face. Rinzler snarled, flying backwards away from the assault. Sam Flynn stood there, swinging his limbs again. Rinzler dodged the clumsy attacks. The User seemed intent on fighting, but he was no match for Rinzler, not even now. Rinzler latched his hands around Sam Flynn's arm and flung him away. Tom Devlin shouted out again, but Rinzler was refocusing on the User in front of him now.

 **Death to Flynn.**

He went to grab the human again, but suddenly, Sam Flynn rolled away form him, and not of his own accord.

The shelf shifted downwards and suddenly, Rinzler was flying in the air, the other two in the same predicament. He hit the rock, rolling downwards at a dangerous speed. There was a horrible smashing sound and the rock groaned beneath them—but it stopped moving. Rinzler looked up, stunned. The two pillars had smashed into each other, weakened by the fighting this whole time, forming a bridge.

It was almost like a universal understanding had just taken place between the three of them. The two humans took off, not waiting for another chance to escape. Rinzler snarled and scrambled to his feet to follow them. They weren't going to get away. They weren't leaving him trapped here again—

They ran over the rock and stone, ignoring how the path crumbled away almost right beneath their feet. The black rock faded into white stone, an immortal substance. He saw Sam Flynn urge Tom Devlin forward. Both saw him running and they ran faster. It was too late, however.

Rinzler flew forward, grabbing Sam Flynn by the legs. They both hit the ground, only yards from the portal. Rinzler felt everything begin to burn. The light—the light was far too strong, this close—

Sam Flynn got to his feet, only barely. "Wait! No!" he shouted up at the sky. Everything was glowing around them. The User tried to move away from the light; Rinzler started to run at him again—

He saw Sam turn around and suddenly, Tron felt his coding shift within him. He—he knew that face.

" _We're going to do great things here, buddy. Just you wait."_

Numb, Tron fell, colliding into Sam Flynn, who shouted in alarm. Tom Devlin turned at the cry, silhouetted by the sublime power of the Tower beyond them.

" _We named him Sam. He's the cutest thing you'll ever see. I can't wait for you two to meet, Tron!"_

Gasping. Crawling. Tron reached out in vain for the face of Flynn's son. He remembered. He remembered Flynn telling him—promising—they'd meet—

" _Rinzler. Kill them."_

"No…" Tron whispered. He tried to stand, being kicked back by Sam Flynn. He deserved it. He deserved worse.

He had promised to protect Flynn, no matter what. That was his purpose. His destiny.

But he hadn't. He hadn't protected Flynn in his hour of need. He had failed. C.L.U. took over. Made him—made him into a monster.

He had helped murder his best friend.

Tron tried to get out of the way. Legs were tangled and all he could hear was the roaring of the Tower. He didn't belong there. He had to let them go. He didn't deserve to be there, so close to—

"RINZLER!"

Looking up, he saw Tom Devlin staring at him, past the light, eyes wide with emotion. Rinzler stared back at him, unable to move.

He didn't deserve _this_.

The entire platform shifted. He heard Sam Flynn yell, but the light blanked out every other sense. This wasn't like the Light in the Sea, the thing that pulled and drew him along past the rules, the order of the Grid. This light—it started to break him down. If he had any energy at all, he would have fought it, but he doubted it would do much.

A hand found his shoulder, but after that—he knew nothing but pure, white _nothing_.

 

* * *

 **End** _**Chapter Eleven** _ **.**

* * *

 

 **A/Ns** :  
-Why did the Tower activate by itself/not with a disc like it did in _Legacy_? Wait for an explanation next chapter. Amy's good like that.  
-I'm sorry, but at the end of the movie when Sam goes crazy and punches C.L.U., I _died_. Lmao. His scream was so corny. Now, I can't imagine him fighting well in a fist fight at all hahaha.  
-Yes, it seemed incredibly easy to reach the portal in this. It would have been easy in the movie too, had they just hopped onto that freighter and just kept going without interruption (aka Castor and then C.L.U..) Or at least, that's my excuse to get the story moving further along haha.


	12. Chapter 12

 

The systems were all operational from a technical standpoint, but from what Amy could decipher from the data streams, something crazy was happening that was sapping bandwidth and resources.

It had taken her two minutes to find the right part of the Grid to look at, the input/output drop box. Another twenty seconds to open it and figure out exactly what to do next. She knew, however, that two minutes and twenty seconds didn't exactly compute on the other end of the Grid. This was a race against a time limit she wasn't even really experiencing.

"I'm activating it," she said out loud, pressing, tentatively, the different keys necessary to trigger the I/O drop. Apparently the thing had to be opened from the inside… or in the case of emergency, could be triggered from the outside. Amy really didn't see what possessed Kevin Flynn to design his only way out so insanely, but this was not the time to ask questions.

Quorra loomed over her shoulder, wary and alert. "A-are you sure it won't hurt them?" she demanded again.

Amy looked up at her, glaring. "We don't have a choice, Quorra! You said this place was falling apart. After everything I've been told in the last month, I'm going to take that _quite literally_!" she said sharply, her heart racing. She read the data stream once again to make sure. "Three files are in the output box."

" _Three_?" Quorra repeated, alarmed.

Somehow, realizing that three files meant three living beings was a bit too much to fathom at the moment. Amy shot back in the chair, still using the keyboard. They had to move.

"Fuck it!" she declared, standing up. "Stand back!" She paused. "…You are supposed to stand back, right?"

Quorra sent her a look of, _How the Hell Am I Supposed to Know? !_ , so Amy decided to go with her gut, motioning the woman aside. She didn't know what the end result would be, but according to this, she could activate the escape tower (what a concept…) manually. If those three files meant that Flynn and Tom were there, she would take the chance.

If it worked, she'd demand answers for her nerd concerns. Right now she was more worried about getting her boyfriend out alive.

She hit the activation keys and jumped after Quorra. The computer buzzed loudly and the camera-laser-cannon-thing moved.

"Is it just supposed to—?" Amy began to say, but without much prompt, the cannon fired what seemed to be explosions of light. She yelled in surprise and Quorra jumped, but the shock didn't have a lot of time to stick.

A jumble of bodies materialized out of thin air, or rather, out from the beams of light. Amy gaped in astonishment as she saw Tom Devlin stumble out, well, nothing. She didn't know who shouted the loudest, the women or the men.

"TOM!" she screamed. She ran forward, ignoring the other two people. She focused on the familiar brunette climbing to his feet. "Oh, _God_ , you're okay!"

Tom had just begun to stand up when Amy hugged him fiercely. "I-I'm fine, I'm okay," he stammered. Then, in a double take, Tom gave Amy a wild look. " _Amy_! What are you doing here? !"

"I went looking for you, a-and then Quorra told me Sam Flynn was down here and—!"

The story came tumbling out almost without Amy having to think about it. Her decision to try to find a better system for Rinzler, losing him, meeting Quorra, discovering the Grid in ENCOM's literal basement—and then finding out exactly where Sam Flynn and Tom had gone—

Tom just listened to her rambling and he just closed his eyes, embracing her again. Amy clung to him, shaking. How had things gotten so out of control, so quickly?

To think, they had complained about boring lives before. Amy was suddenly very pleased they lived such a mediocre lifestyle. It was much safer.

After what seemed like forever, Amy turned her head to single out the other two people in the room. Sam Flynn (or that's who she thought it was; she had only seen a picture of him once from a magazine) and Quorra were also embracing, strangely silent, a few feet away. Quorra looked shaken and was just staring out at nothing, entranced by her own thoughts. Amy frowned, feeling sympathetic. She wondered… could programs really feel as much as humans? Or was it worse, because Sam was all Quorra had now?

Yeah, Amy had some questions, but the timing hadn't been right for it. The curious side of her demanded answers, so maybe when things calmed down, she could ask Quorra—

Movement drew everyone's attention back to the center of the room. There was someone else, a third person, lying there, trying to sit up. Amy froze, looking down at them, and Tom also noticed.

"Oh, shit," he exclaimed, looking stunned.

Amy's eyes widened as the figure finally got to his knees, looking up at the rest of the room. Sam and Quorra both stopped, seeing him for the first time.

She had never seen this man before, but Amy had a feeling as she was subjected to one of the fiercest gazes she had ever experienced, she _knew_ him. Tom tensed up around her and started to draw her back away from the other man.

"Rinzler," he began, voice wavering.

The man looked at him sharply and tried to stand. Amy was more stunned by Tom's utterance.

Rinzler?

She stared again at the stranger, dressed in black everywhere except his head, as he continued to fight to get his footing. He seemed unable to lift himself up onto his legs, but his frustration was more apparent when he started to grow more panicked at his own inability. He growled, his movements increasing in desperation.

Amy opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her. This… this was Rinzler?

…Oh, no.

"Tom—! GET AWAY!" Amy gasped when Sam grabbed Tom and then her, urging them to step back from the struggling Rinzler. "Get back! Get back!"

"Is that Rinzler?" Amy demanded loudly, trying to move forward. "Wait! Is that—? !"

Finally, Rinzler got to his feet and for a second, looked utterly menacing. He stepped forward, dominating the space—

And then he tripped right into the desk, knocking over a computer and several filing boxes. Amy gasped, dodging a rolling monitor on the floor. Rinzler snarled and pushed himself away, but he only fell over again, disappearing partially behind the desk.

… _What?_

He couldn't use his legs right? Amy dared to step forward, realizing something else was seriously wrong.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Quorra move forward, something in her hands—apparently an antique keyboard. She gasped as the woman swung it right at Rinzler's unprotected face—

 **0000**

Where was the ground?

That was probably not the most intelligent query Rinzler had ever had to process, but it was his most prevalent concern as of that moment.

He could not tell where the ground was. Or where was up. He slapped hands on a hard surface, but he could not tell what it was or where he was in relation to it. He heard so many sounds and everything was very bright. It was like he had just fallen through the Grid onto unprocessed area. He couldn't sense anything. Everything was just dull and unrecognizable.

Why did his chest hurt? He gasped, taking in cold cold— _something_. Not liquid. Something else. Rinzler fought the vertigo and attempted to stand. His mind was on fire, but by moving so slow, he knew he was glitching. He thought he found the floor when he got his numb legs to push up, but the floor caved and he stumbled forward, nearly into something else protruding in the distance. Material that looked like solid white data pads fluttered around him as he collided with the object. Something crashed loudly and he groaned, clutching at his head. Everything was so _loud_.

"Rinzler?"

He saw a face peering down at him. Rinzler stared back, trying to reach it. He couldn't. All he could do was visually acknowledge it. His knees gave under the pressure of the very room around him. Everything seemed to be pressing down upon him. He fell backwards again. He tried to speak, perhaps protest, but nothing happened. Rinzler snarled, but when he did, his mouth opened slower than normal. The sound that emerged seemed far away, but he knew it had come from him. What was happening? !

"—GET AWAY!" he heard someone shout. So loud…

He looked up and saw feet. Many feet. He tried to focus, but everything was a blur. Grasping outward, he caught hold of the object—a desk?—and pulled himself upright. He could feel the texture of the chair under his fingers—but _was_ it a chair? He stumbled again, legs buckling. He slammed into the desk and many things crashed that time. He gasped for breath, unable to keep up with his body's need for it. He heard a sharp sound—and then something slammed into his head.

Rinzler had never felt such pain before, so suddenly. His entire visual field went down for many seconds ( _it hadn't been very clear before anyway_ ). He slammed into the ground ( _ah, there it was_ ) and all he felt was pain ricochet all over his body. It was as if he had taken a duel disk right to the face. He couldn't move, he couldn't think, not past that much stimulation.

His attacker wasn't done just yet. Or rather, attackers. He was certain there were more, because there was so much noise being made. Someone was kicking his sides, provoking more pain. He tried in vain to block any sensory receptors still active, but they were apparently already deactivated. Why then… why was he still receiving sensation?

"Rinzler! No!" he heard someone, female, shout. "Please, stop! He's not doing anything wrong!" The strikes stopped briefly.

A woman stared down at him, black hair capturing her face like a frame. She pierced through him with frantic eyes. Rinzler couldn't feel her, but he saw Tom Devlin appear behind her. They were so far away…

But if Tom was there…

"Amy," he said, not sure why it mattered. He wasn't sure if he really said it; his vocalizer was disconnected apparently. The woman drew back, shocked. Perhaps she had heard him.

Hands grabbed at his chest. He made no effort to stop his assailant from yanking him upright, destroying his sense of where he was in the universe. He looked right into the face of Sam Flynn. There was no mistake there. Rinzler tried to reach out to see if this was real, but there was no receptor to access.

The woman yelled again.

 _My name is Amy Talbot._

Eyes widening to their maximum potential, Rinzler slammed his head straight into Sam Flynn's. The human recoiled in pain. Rinzler's own head stung with startling agony, but he didn't care. He scrambled, fighting every surface he touched. Everything was falling in on top of him. He had to—he had to get out—

He found a wall and he tried to pull himself up. He failed, sliding down. The world passed by in a blur. He didn't have the strength to get up. It was—too much.

He heard more commotion. For the first time since he could remember, Rinzler felt fear. He was out of control—everything was out of control. More footsteps, more crashing.

They were going to de-rezz him.

Rinzler flinched when he saw an unfocused being crouch in front of his prone form. Small, petite. Black hair.

"Please," he heard Amy Talbot beg. Rinzler thought she was talking to him.

Seconds passed.

Then, Tom Devlin loomed overhead.

 **0000**

Well, that went amazingly well, Tom thought sarcastically. This wasn't the time for sarcasm, however, even though it alleviated the chaotic mess of emotion he was feeling.

When Amy came up out of no where to greet him, he had been shocked and confused. It sort of made sense with her explanation, but everything was happening too fast to really react the way he probably should have. Questions could wait; he was just relishing the fact he was still alive and back in the real world—

And then they had discovered the incidental hitchhiker. Tom couldn't lie to himself; he had almost screamed when he saw Rinzler there on the floor, very much alive and very much, well, _real_. Sam had only briefly mentioned the Quorra woman and her nature, but the notion of a computer program suddenly becoming corporal in the real world… it was too much to fathom.

But there he was. Tom didn't know what to say when Rinzler had attempted to stand and walk around. Amy was confused and was asking him questions when out of no where, Quorra (he assumed that was who she was at least) strode forward and clobbered him over the head with a keyboard. Rinzler went down instantly, hitting the ground in a way that had to be very painful. Amy screamed more out of shock than anything and, suddenly, Sam and Quorra were on Rinzler, trying to either subdue him, or more likely, beat the shit out of him.

"Stop! _Jesus Christ_!" Amy was screaming. She waved at Quorra to stop kicking the program on the floor, frantic. "He's not doing anything wrong! Stop it!"

"Do you have any idea who this is?" Quorra shot back, enraged.

"It's Rinzler," Tom breathed, eyes wide. Amy looked at him with a similar expression.

Sam brushed past Quorra to lift Rinzler up, looking mad himself. "He's probably the most dangerous program out there right now," he said shortly, glaring down at the unresponsive program in question. "We need to send him back, right now, before—!"

Without much prompt, Rinzler head-butted Sam in the face. Quorra yelled and Sam fell backwards, in pain. Rinzler rolled to the side, trying to get away from all of them. Tom leapt back out of the way as he barreled past, but it was a poor attempt. Rinzler tripped again, slamming into the wall under the stairs. He slid down the wall, breathing fast, looking around wildly. He didn't get up after that.

Sam, grabbing up the keyboard Quorra had dropped earlier, started forward. This was crazy, Tom realized. He thought to say something to stop the other man from attacking Rinzler again. The program seemed utterly out of control, but only of his own body. He was sick, damaged—they couldn't just kill him!

Words were never enough for Amy. She dove forward in front of Rinzler. Sam stopped, shocked, and Amy glared up at him, looking more emotional than Tom had seen her in a long time.

"Please," she begged, holding one hand back to Rinzler and the other in front of her, crouched. "H-he's sick. Just _look_ at him. He's just trying to get away. He's _scared_!"

Hesitating, Sam tried to remain strong. "He's _dangerous_. You don't understand," he began.

"He trusted me to keep him safe!" Amy exclaimed. She looked up at Tom, who looked back helplessly. "I know he's insane and dangerous and—we don't have to hurt him though!"

Tom watched as Sam's expression morphed from anger to confusion. The tension in the room was unbelievable. Quorra looked quite ready to end Rinzler's miserable life right there and Sam appeared to have trouble finding something intelligent to say. Slowly, Tom moved toward Amy and Rinzler, feeling incredibly lightheaded.

"Rinzler…" Amy said quietly. She turned around slowly to face him. He didn't look at her. "It's me… Amy. Do you remember me?"

There was something about their names that triggered responses from the program. Rinzler's head lolled up to hers and he gave her a long stare. His eyes seemed unfocused, but there was at least a little comprehension within them. "Amy Talbot," he rasped. The program sounded as friendly as a pit bull; it sounded like he hadn't spoken in years.

Amy nodded. "Yeah," she said shakily. She held out a tentative hand to steady the man, but stopped herself. "A-are you… are you okay?"

Rinzler said nothing. Tom crouched beside the two figures and exchanged a worried look with Amy. This was _nuts_ …

Tom knew they had to get everyone calmed down, however, and Rinzler seemed to only like two of the humans present. He pressed his luck. "Hey, Rinzler. Look at me. Remember me?" he prompted, leaning forward daringly. He waved a hand in front of Rinzler's blank face. "It's Tom Devlin. Are you okay—?"

Without any warning, Rinzler's hand shot out and grabbed Tom's throat, yanking him downward.

Tom froze, knowing Sam and Quorra had both just tensed up behind him in preparation for a fight. Amy was staring at Tom with unadulterated shock, frightened. Tom himself just looked straight ahead at Rinzler, who's scarred face was terribly close.

Rinzler just held him there, trembling hands not crushing, by the throat. Tom swallowed, desperately trying not to appear as afraid as he felt. He had seen this man rip people to shreds with those hands. He should have been terrified. He should have been hoping for Sam Flynn to jump to the rescue again.

For some insane reason, Tom instead reached up and grabbed Rinzler's hand slowly. The program-turned-human didn't flinch.

"Savior," Rinzler stated. Tom took a deep breath. "Tom Devlin."

"Y-yeah. I'm Tom," he replied, voice wavering. He tugged experimentally at the hand around his throat. The fingers didn't budge. "Rinzler, please let me go." If anything, his neck was beginning to cramp from being pulled down like that.

Rinzler slowly turned his head, gazing to his right, where Amy sat. She stared back, too stunned to be afraid now. "Amy… Talbot," Rinzler bit out. He stopped, apparently having surprised himself by the effort.

Amy nodded carefully. "Y-yes. Rinzler, please," she pleaded. Rinzler rigidly released Tom, who stood back with equal wariness. "Th-there you go."

Rinzler _stared_ at her and then said again, "Saviors." He looked above them, his eyes strangely distant and cloudy now. He wasn't really there in the room with them, Tom realized.

Behind him, he heard the other two shift. The silence was unbearable.

"What the _hell_ just happened?" Sam demanded abruptly, anger prevalent in his voice. There was panic there, too, however. Tom turned around, looking at his boss warily. Sam pointed accusingly at him and Amy. "H-how do you know him? _Jesus Christ_ , I thought—!"

"I never told you the whole story," Tom replied quickly. He shot a quick look at Amy, who nodded. "We…"

"You tell me, _right now_ , or so help me…" Sam sputtered, his face an incredible shade of red. He couldn't finish his threat. Instead, he motioned aggressively at the three on the ground. " _Christ_ , I have no idea what I'm going to do, but _Goddamn it_!"

Amy was looking at Rinzler, eyes filled with wonder and worry. Rinzler wasn't looking at them anymore. He was looking right at Sam as the other man ranted. Sam noticed as well, looking back at Rinzler in alarm.

Neither spoke nor moved. Tom watched as something changed in Rinzler's expression. There was no aggression. Just…

Sadness.

"Sam Flynn," Rinzler said suddenly. He shrank back into the wall, hands clenching. He shook even worse.

Sam looked over at Quorra, alarmed still, but when he looked back, he waited, listening. Rinzler took several unsteady breaths.

"Son of Flynn." The program closed his eyes, drawing in further and further. "Son of Flynn."

He didn't say anything after that. He just hunkered down, like a broken child. Tom suddenly realized they weren't talking to Rinzler anymore.

 _Tron_.

Amy gazed over at Tom, her eyes wide with emotion. He understood. He reached out and they clasped hands. Tom didn't know if it was him who was shaking that badly, or was it her. It didn't really matter, in the end.

"…We need to talk," Sam said quietly. He dropped his defensive pose and looked grimmer than Tom had ever seen him.

 _That_ , Tom decided, was the understatement of his entire _lifetime_.

 

* * *

 **End** _**Chapter Twelve** _ **.**

* * *

 

 **A/Ns** :  
-That really easy poof-they're-out-of-the-Grid? Um. I wasn't sure how to write this exactly, so it SEEMS really simple, but come on, think about the action-packed end of the last chapter. (Stupid time constraints…!)  
-Is this the last we'll see of the Grid? Noooope.  
\- "Stranger dressed in black" – Um. I had to admit I was curious at the end of _Legacy_. When Quorra reappeared, was she naked? Or just wore similar clothing? XD Goddamn inconsistent canons! For the sake of sanity, the clothing of programs translates semi-accurately into real life for _Outer Limits_.  
-Rinzler's lack of coordination – Remember Quorra's complaints from chapter five about lack of connections? Rinzler is no different. This is quite like how Quorra would have experienced arriving in the real world post-movie. But unlike Quorra who arrived on purpose and with a friend, Rinzler is insane, arrived by accident and has no friends. Oops. Everything to him is at a delay and he is not used to have to _think_ to _do_ things (breathe repeatedly (something simulated before), open his mouth to talk, walk, etc. etc.).


	13. Chapter 13

 

After sending Tom upstairs to grab a blanket, a whole pot of coffee and mugs from the lounge upstairs, Sam had intended to start interrogating the whole lot of them for answers. He almost thought this was a dream as he walked around the lab floor, giving short orders to different people to move toward the back of the labs or deactivate the Grid console. But eventually, the light-headedness went away and Sam was stuck staring down three strangers, one of whom was pointedly not staring at anything.

After explaining _their_ side of the story, Sam and Quorra looked to the two other humans, waiting for answers.

"We hacked into ENCOM. On a dare," Tom explained as Amy helped to wrap the emergency blanket around the catatonic Rinzler. He was shaking so badly, even Sam felt obligated to get the guy more cover. He was paler than _Quorra_ was. "Our friends prompted us to do it to show we knew how to do it."

"Did you really get in?" Sam had to ask, averting his gaze from Rinzler's face; it was disturbing to look at too long. They had taken up in one of the smaller monitoring rooms off of the main hall.

Amy bit her lip. She didn't look like much of a hacker, but apparently, both she and Tom were quite adept with computers. "Sort of," she admitted. "Your security shut off somehow and I snuck in. We thought we were taking a copy of the TRON game… you know, the original arcade files."

That's what really threw Sam. "They're not even on those severs," he said, crossing his arms. The Grid was made prior to wireless Internet and definitely before it was common to connect computers to the Web. Flynn explicitly said that the Grid was a stand-alone system.

Tom nodded. "Well, we thought they were. We wound up finding a similar file, but…" He glanced downward, at the silent program in question. "It was Rinzler."

"How did he wind up on ENCOM's servers?" Quorra asked, stunned.

"He claims he wasn't. We only hacked into ENCOM, though. It never made any sense," Amy replied. She awkwardly handed a semi-hot cup of coffee at Rinzler, but the program just stared at it blankly. She placed the cup on the ground instead. "I always thought the Grid was just, you know, a sub-part of ENCOM's main systems."

Sam frowned deeply. "It isn't." This was troubling. At the time they had hacked into the system, the Grid wasn't even in the ENCOM building. It had been back at the Arcade, no where near there.

Suddenly, the chain around his neck holding the Grid felt much heavier.

"Well, you're guess is as good as ours then," Tom said, grim. "We only found out about the Grid through Rinzler."

"You talked to him?" Sam prompted, reluctantly looking at Rinzler again. He just sat there, staring out at probably nothing at all. He did look rather sick, Sam had to admit, or just exhausted. Or, you know, _insane_ , the sarcastic part of him added.

"For about a month and a few days now," Amy said quietly. "Sometimes Tron. It's difficult to tell." She hugged herself on the other side of the program, looking at him with pity. "…He looks horrible."

Sam watched as well, even though Rinzler didn't make a move, or a sound. "I never saw him without the helmet," he said. Quorra glanced at him, but Sam decided to just stare at the wall behind her.

To see Alan's face on the body of someone—some _thing_ —that had been trying to kill him and his father, even now… it had been… disturbing. Sam didn't want to look at Rinzler. He would rather that the program still had his helmet.

"What's wrong with him?" Tom asked suddenly. He looked almost as worried as Amy did about how sick Rinzler appeared. Why, Sam couldn't fathom.

"You're more in the know about him right now than we are," Sam replied, challenging.

Amy sighed. "He mentioned a virus. He's infected."

Oh, great, Sam thought darkly. He rubbed a weary hand over his face, stepping away. It wasn't like he had any emotional attachment to the uncontrolled program. Rinzler, no matter if he occasionally flashed back to Tron, was still their enemy. Still… _dangerous_. He should have been glad that someone other than him could just take care of Rinzler before he hurt someone else.

But a virus? If Rinzler had one, what about the Grid? What if it spread somewhere outside of the Grid, on that matter? This could be a serious situation, and definitely not because one homicidal nutjob was sick. He doubted Tom or Amy would take kindly to that assessment, however.

Luckily, Quorra seemed to know about the situation more than any of them. "…The isomorphic virus," she said, hesitantly. All eyes, even Rinzler's vacant ones, found her. Quorra pursed her lips, apparently not happy about discussing it. "C.L.U. poisoned the Sea of Simulation with a virus that would target any new isomorphic beings from forming."

Tom grimaced, probably remembering their flight over the water, but Amy only looked surprised.

"So, the Sea is _real_?" Amy asked, stunned.

Sam only knew about it from the short conversations he and his father had about the body of water they had to cross to get to the I/O Tower. "Yes. What about it?" he demanded, hoping they wouldn't ask him too much more. He only knew it was unprocessed data, essentially.

"It was all Rinzler would talk about at first," Amy replied. She glanced at Quorra, looking curious. "You said you were an ISO earlier. What is that?"

"A special computer program that came from the Sea," Sam replied shortly. Quorra sent him a strange look, but he waved her away; they still needed to keep some secrets. "So, Rinzler has an ISO virus?"

"Yes." Quorra looked agitated during the entire conversation; Sam could relate to her unease of just standing there with Rinzler only feet away form them. It would take more than illness and a meek appearance to make Quorra feel better about the other program, Sam guessed. "Apparently."

Tom frowned, glancing at Rinzler. "He's not an ISO. Neither was Tron," he said, pointing out the obvious.

"Maybe it just affects all programs," Amy suggested, looking contemplative. She was now looking at Rinzler with an intensely curious expression, as if she was trying to figure out what the problem was just sitting there.

"…Maybe," Sam admitted, feeling uneasy about the whole thing. "Dad did make it clear that touching the water would be deadly for ordinary programs. I had always thought it was just, well, dangerous." Because with everything else happening to them at the time, he would have believed anything about the landscape, poisoned ocean included.

But if the Grid was really facing an infection from the Sea… no. C.L.U. had done that at the beginning of the war, so the virus couldn't have been affecting the land just now. It had to be something else that made the land so unsteady and… well, the programs so distorted. If he ever got the image of melting faces out of his mind, Sam would be very surprised.

Perhaps… whatever had caused the fragility of the Grid was now letting the virus seep into the whole system as the ocean shelf began to crumble? Sam frowned, thinking carefully. He'd have to investigate that as soon as he had the chance. No wonder things were falling apart so quickly. The Grid was under assault from all sides.

"He's sick right now, regardless," Amy began, dragging Sam back into the room with her voice. "What did C.L.U. _do_ to him?"

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened to Tron. Physically, at least during their first visit to the Grid, Rinzler had appeared well. Mentally, they had just thought he was a drone of C.L.U.'s. When his father figured out that it was in fact Sam's childhood hero behind that inhuman mask… yeah, Sam had doubts, at least until Tron saved them from C.L.U. during that final fight.

And then… his face. Sam could see it now, even with the dark circles under his eyes and haggard appearance. The stories his father had told him mentioned only briefly that programmers gave their own faces to their programmed creations. It was startling to see that Flynn had been correct and that… well… this was the proof that Rinzler really was Tron.

"Reprogrammed him," Sam answered shortly, trying to shake the unease from his chest. He hadn't seen Alan since last week. He didn't know if he could face the older man anytime soon now.

Amy pressed on, suddenly desperate. "But… he's fighting it," she said. "He reverts to Tron all the time."

"Yeah. From what I can tell, he did inside the Grid too," Tom added. He looked at Sam. "When he showed up and killed the other p-programs, he different lights on his clothing. It was like ours. Does that mean something?"

All three of the coherent people looked right at Sam, as if he had all the answers. He swallowed, his throat dry.

Oh, he couldn't do this. Kevin Flynn might have had answers, but his son didn't.

"I have no idea." Taking a deep breath, Sam turned away. "Listen. Just sit here for a second. Quorra?"

He walked out of the smaller lab and stopped out near the lines of computers. Quorra had followed him silently, but as he turned to face her, Sam saw anger and fear in her eyes. He just stared at her, unable to say anything else. He knew why she was angry. She wanted to end things, now, no matter what the consequences. Sam was inclined to agree with her, but he had realized something terrible when thinking about just ending the rogue program right there.

The gravity of the situation slammed into Sam's mind and he almost wanted to throw up.

Not realizing his distress, Quorra took the opportunity to speak. "We need to deactivate him now," she hissed, leaning in closer. She had at least picked up the concept of subtlety by watching television. "Sam, you know what he is. What he is capable of doing."

Sam didn't say anything. He stared at the desk in front of him, clenching his fist.

Quorra grabbed his shoulder, insistent. "Sam… you cannot possibly think that we can just let him go free—," she began.

Turning suddenly, Sam looked down at her. "The rules are different here," he interrupted, stammering. He motioned at the office, not caring if the others overheard. "Th-this isn't the Grid, Quorra. We can't just kill him. There are laws against that. It's called murder here."

The ISO flinched. " _He_ is a murderer!" she countered, not understanding.

"He is a person. A-a living, breathing _man_ ," Sam replied, grabbing his face in frustration. "And you _cannot_ kill a man on your own, no matter if he really is a killer himself or not. That's why we have a justice system. We evaluate criminals with unbiased peers." Why was he trying to explain the legal system to computer programs turned human? Oh, right, Sam Flynn had the most insane life out of the entire world's population.

"Then let's take him to justice!" Quorra insisted. She looked so desperate.

That wasn't enough for Sam and he knew it wouldn't be enough for anyone else. "What could we possibly accuse him of?" he demanded, knowing he was starting to sound hysterical. He _felt_ hysterical. "H-helping to overthrow the creator of a digital empire? Murdering computer programs? Trying to kill us inside of a computer?" He bit out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. "Quorra, we can't just walk into a police station about this. As far as the world will see it, he's not even a person. You're… you'd probably get the same treatment. You're not human. _Rinzler's_ not human. But you're still… a _person_."

Quorra stared at him, uncomprehending. Sam sank back against a tall server tower, exasperated.

"But… _God_ , I don't even know," he continued, shaking his head slowly. "What rules apply to you guys? Which ones don't?"

The last six hours had opened a can of worms so foul, Sam doubted even the most skilled lawmakers could figure out what to do with it all. This is why he wanted to avoid exposing the ISOs to the public, as well as the Grid, because it confounded everything—politics, civil rights, religion—it completely altered the definition of what a person _was_ and what a person _wasn't_.

It changed everything, just like dad had predicted. Wearily, Sam closed his eyes. It had changed everything in a way Kevin Flynn probably hadn't expected now, however.

Quorra was watching him silently, her expression fading rapidly into a sullen one. "We cannot let him walk away, Sam," she warned. Sam knew she was right; ISOs were supposed to be wise with things, weren't they?

"I know." Sam looked back at the office and saw the three people sitting there. Tom and Amy had the nerve to be smiling, in the face of this entire ridiculous situation. He motioned at them. "Look at them."

"I do not trust any of them," Quorra said quietly, frowning deeply. She shook her head. "They are severely misguided."

Sam wanted to just agree and end the conversation, but even agreeing with her wouldn't get rid of their most glaring problem, which was what to do with Rinzler. "…He called them saviors," Sam muttered. He closed his eyes, trying to calm down. "Even back in the Grid. He called Tom a savior almost automatically. He does remember them. And he… listens to them." And if Sam wasn't mistaken, he trusted them, too.

Quorra didn't move for a moment, but she slowly came closer, the fabric of her jacket scraping the side of the metal desk. "What are you thinking?" she asked, sounding tentative. Sam opened his eyes and saw she was looking at him with the same concern she had whenever he was overworked. That made him smile, even just a little.

"I don't know," he replied, honest. He had absolutely no idea what to do next. It was all out of control. "What if we send him back?" he suggested, knowing it wasn't the best idea. At least he'd away from innocent people if he was trapped in the Grid again.

Quorra's frown told Sam he had missed something important. "If he has the virus, what if spreads further?" she countered. "It has been contained within the Sea until now."

Sam grit his teeth. Oh, yeah, _that_ problem. "Great. Then we can't send him back."

"We just need to fix the virus," Quorra replied, suddenly less glum. She looked at Sam for confirmation.

In theory, that was a solid plan. But… "I thought dad couldn't fix it?" Sam asked, frowning in confusion. If it was just a simple fix, Sam doubted he could handle it, at least in a short amount of time. He was not looking forward to dealing with Rinzler for that long.

Quorra shook her head, however. "From what Flynn told me, it was a matter of decacycles after the Virus was placed in the Sea that C.L.U. overthrew Flynn," she explained. "He never had the time nor power to confront the virus."

Well. Sam turned away, considering. "So we have a chance?" he asked, desperately trying not to put too much hope into it.

"Especially on the outside, I would imagine," Quorra replied, tilting her head.

That idea how more credence than anything else they had so far. "Get rid of the virus, confine Rinzler to the Grid," he muttered, running over the plan mentally. It… had potential.

Quorra suddenly winced. "He has more power there than here, though!" she exclaimed.

They needed him healed not for his benefit, but for their own. Sam grimaced too, realizing that if they fixed him up, they might just be aiding an enemy. He was still far too uncontrollable to trust not to turn on them after he was healed.

"Shit," Sam groaned, covering his face with his hands. He stood upright, determined not to back down now. They had a plan, finally. "Well, if he's in there and we're out here, we can limit that power drastically."

Quorra frowned, considering. "True," she reluctantly admitted.

"Fine," Sam replied. "We fix the virus, cure the Sea. …Figure out where to put Rinzler after that."

There was a long pause as Quorra thought it over. "But what about now?" she asked quietly, glancing behind them. There was no real movement from the lab. Sam found himself staring at the trio.

Sam knew it was crazy to assume anything about Rinzler right now. He was mentally ill and even before that, he had been crazy. They could have been making a very bad decision in thinking they could go about this without any problems.

However, as he stood there, Sam began to realize something else.

They… had options left. Not good or sane ones, but that really went without saying, he had to realize.

"...No one comes down here," he murmured, already setting his mind to doing this. It was their only shot.

Quorra moved closer, confused. "What?" she asked.

The only thing left was to bring it up with the other three. "Let's deal with them," he stated. Sam looked into the office, gathering his courage and wits. "Sort everything out, and all."

He prayed it would be that simple.

 **0000**

Well, that had been an interesting hour of discussion. Tom had learned more about ENCOM and Kevin Flynn than he had ever dreamed to know. Apparently, twenty-some years ago, a computer program had threatened to take over the entire ENCOM corporation, so a programmer (the famous Alan Bradley, in fact) had created a program to fight him (à la Tron). Kevin Flynn got swept up in that mess, and he and Tron saved ENCOM's servers from the evil program and eventually became CEO, creating a game based off of Tron, aptly named _TRON_.

And of course, it had to get even crazier.

Flynn made his own digital world called the Grid, along with a digital copy of himself, called C.L.U., and Tron as helpers. It worked out great until C.L.U. went mad over the search for the perfect system, which had been threatened when new programs (the ISOs) appeared. He overthrew Flynn, blocked him from getting out of the Grid, and reprogrammed Tron into Rinzler. …Thus explaining the greatest mystery of the computer industry of where Kevin Flynn had gone for two decades. Tom had personally heard stranger Elvis theories.

How Sam and Quorra got into the picture was a bit clearer. Sam was investigating his dad's office and then found the digitizer, triggering it accidentally. He got swept up in a miniature revolution (featuring Sam, his father and Quorra against C.L.U. and the entire Grid world) that ended with Flynn sacrificing himself for Sam and Quorra to escape. Rinzler fit into the picture only briefly, having once worked for C.L.U., but then changing sides at the end after attempting to stop C.L.U.. Sam had recently begun to rebuild the Grid after his _exploding father_ had taken out the majority of it when he had gone to Tom for help, leading up to this very moment.

Yes, it had been a strange, strange hour.

So, there he sat, in the tiny monitor room with his girlfriend and the bizarre creature he knew as Rinzler. To think, he had once thought Rinzler being a computer program was difficult to believe. Now he was a living, _breathing_ computer program.

Tom was mentally trying to cope with all of these things, and the real world wasn't helping much. Sam had left them after their discussion, looking flustered. No one involved really seemed to know what to do. Rinzler knew the least, apparently.

The program wasn't doing much. He was far from threatening, sitting there like a lost child. He didn't speak much, but he was improving gradually as they prompted him. Tom could only imagine the sources of the problems the program was having. There was the reprogramming situation (which seemed more akin to brainwashing to his logic, but he doubted that logic would mean much for computer programs), and then, of course, the virus.

Amy was incredibly nervous over that problem more than anything else. She kept _doting_ on the program now that they were alone, smiling fondly at Rinzler, who seemed more interested in what was draped around him, and trying to get him to speak. She was doing it out of concern, however, to test out just how damaged the program was.

"You sure don't say much, huh?" she asked, amused. Tom smiled at her; she certainly never stopped trying when faced with a problem.

Rinzler was only looking at his hands, wrapped up in the blanket. Frustration was slowly growing in his expression, but it wasn't at them, apparently, because he began to speak.

"Vocalizer… unresponsive," he ground out. Every word was apparently a difficulty to say for him.

Tom frowned. "Your throat hurts?" He knew that Amy's chief concern was the status of that virus Rinzler apparently had. He looked ill, but he was progressively becoming more alert. He assumed that the disorientation was from just, well, being disorientated. Rinzler wasn't spewing blood or crippled with pain, so Tom really didn't know what to expect.

"No pain," Rinzler replied after a minor battle to find words to say. There was growing awareness in his eyes when he spoke, so Tom assumed it was just the mechanics he was having trouble with when speaking.

"So… what?" Amy asked, leaning against the wall. She started to adjust the blanket around Rinzler's shoulders (Tom _had_ to make fun of her later for being so motherly) when the program suddenly dropped the blanket and grabbed her fingers. Amy glanced at Tom quickly, but then focused on Rinzler. "That's my hand," she said, amused again.

Rinzler peered at the digits, entranced by something unknown to the two humans.

"Can't feel," he said after a moment, clumsily trying to feel her fingers. He dropped the hand, frustrated.

"You're wearing gloves," Amy replied. She smiled, teasingly, and reached out daringly. She took hold of one of the clothed tips of Rinzler's fingers and pulled gently. The glove slid off of the startlingly thin hand and Rinzler gazed as his exposed white hand, astonished. "Ah, it does come off. See? You have fingers, too."

Tom watched silently, but he was inwardly feel more uneasy as Rinzler tentatively poked her hand and then went back to the blanket, feeling the coarse material with his gloveless hand now. He seemed distracted by the action, ignoring the two humans.

Why was he so childlike? Tom knew it might have just been because this was an entirely different world for him now, but… it was bizarre, almost unsettling, even, to see such a powerful creature act so docile. Tom remembered vividly that those now-fumbling hands had ripped people _apart_ inside the Grid world. It was impossible to fathom that Rinzler was still, well, Rinzler. It did make more sense now, after they saw how messed up he was in person, all of that nonsense he had sent them while inside Amy's computer. Something was clearly affecting him.

"Saviors," Rinzler muttered suddenly. He had been looking at the blanket, but now he was focused on Amy and Tom again, glancing between them.

Sitting down against a cabinet opposite of Amy, Tom stared at Rinzler, curious. "Why do you keep saying that?" he asked. Inside the Grid, Tom had been so worked up from fear to really understand what the man had told him, but now…

"Saved…" Rinzler tried, voice scratchy. He paused and then continued. "Me."

Amy frowned deeply, bringing her knees up to her chest. "No. I just screwed it up," she replied quietly. Tom understood why she felt bad, but they didn't know about Rinzler's Wi-Fi trick. Then again, they should have seen that coming, with the whole "Light" spiel he had over and over. It was logical.

"Kept alive," Rinzler shot back. Tom couldn't help but smirk at the sudden effort the program put into that. He definitely was able to communicate; it was just tricky for him right now.

Scowling, Amy wasn't happy with his reply, but decided, thankfully, not to argue. "If that's a thank you, you're welcome," she replied, looking away.

Rinzler was very insistent. "Savior."

"Don't call me that, _please_ ," Amy said, suddenly pleading. She grimaced. "I've had enough weirdness happen to me lately as it is. Just call me Amy. Call him Tom."

If she hadn't asked so desperately, Tom was certain Rinzler would have just ignored her. Instead, the program peered at her seriously and then canted his head. "…Amy." He looked at Tom, considering. "Tom."

Chuckling, Tom leaned back again. "Good," he said, joking. "We're making progress already."

Looking up, Amy frowned again. "You're awfully cheerful," she accused.

"I'm trying to avoid the feelings of terror I was having earlier," he replied calmly. It wasn't easy, but he couldn't focus if he was scared. They were out of danger, well, at least of a physical kind. He was pretty sure they were going to get arrested eventually, but he was trying to stay calm at least for Rinzler and Amy's sakes. After a moment, Tom glanced back at his girlfriend. "Amy… I'm sorry I didn't believe it sooner."

She could hold a grudge until she died, Amy always boasted. But Tom knew that was only partially true. Amy tried to brush his apology away, as she usually did. "Well, you can't argue with me now." She grinned at him, teasing, despite the anxious glint in her eyes.

Tom smiled back. Yeah, he loved her, even if they were involved in something like this. "That's true," he agreed, shaking his head. He noticed Rinzler had once again started to play with the texture on the blanket with a far-away expression. Tom waved his hand at the program. "Hey, you okay, Rinzler, er, Tron?" Without the computer and frequent dialogue from the guy, it was difficult to tell who was who.

The dark-clothed man sitting there almost shrugged. "Rinzler." His mutters were far less discernible than his attempts at speaking normally, but Tom could understand that word at least.

"Right," he said, wondering if he could try to get Rinzler to talk more. He seemed a bit more attentive now… Tom decided to try his luck. "You saved us too, you know. Well, me and Mr. Flynn at least. Those other program things were going to kill us."

Rinzler didn't look at Tom, but he knew the program was listening. "Broken," he said shortly. "Damaged programs."

Amy hesitated. "…from C.L.U.?" she suggested. Tom shrugged; he didn't know either.

"Flynn." Rinzler suddenly hissed, released the blanket. He drew back, almost like he wanted to disappear into the wall. He clenched his fists at his head, as if trying to stop something painful from the inside. "Flynn… did it."

This was worse than dealing with a child. Tom grimaced, knowing they really couldn't do anything for the program. He was mentally unstable, so touching him would probably only aggravate his aggression. Amy looked just as desperate. She daringly reached out, touching Rinzler's shoulder gently. Rinzler didn't react.

"Hey, it's okay. Rinzler?" she said, trying to get him to respond. Tom wasn't sure if all the talking they had gotten out of him had just been wasted if he suddenly regressed. Would it always be that way? They couldn't get answers, and more than that… it was scary to realized just how damaged Rinzler and Tron were.

After several failed starts, Rinzler managed to reply. "…Don't know name," he mumbled. He drew back slowly from Amy's touch, so she removed her hand.

"You've been through a lot, Rinzler…" Amy trailed off. She sat back, looking miserable. "I'm sorry."

Tom shook his head. They couldn't do anything but sit there for the guy. It wasn't fair, but what could any of them do? He doubted Sam or that Quorra lady would be keen on letting the program go to a hospital. Even if they did let him go, what good would human medicine do for a program?

…Tom suddenly felt light-headed as he realized exactly what he was thinking. _Human_ medicine? _Programs_? His life was slowly starting to unravel from ordinarily boring to full out insane.

"Not you," Rinzler said. He spoke into his arms, so it was difficult to hear the mumbled words.

"I can still be sorry for you," Amy replied, frowning. She leaned closer with a serious expression. "You're going to be okay. I promise."

Tom almost wanted to chastise her for making promises they really couldn't swear to keep (this was utterly out of their hands right now), but he didn't have the heart. He wanted to be able to make that promise for real, if only because it was the right thing to do. Rinzler had never done wrong by him, at least. He wanted to give the guy the chance, especially after hearing his back story.

Behind Amy, someone walked up, stopping short. Rinzler jerked his head up, tenser than ever. If Tom wasn't mistaken, the program _growled_. Tom saw Sam Flynn standing there, Quorra flanking him. Apparently, they were finished their private discussion.

"You're not the person who gets to make the promises, got it?" Sam stated, glaring at Amy. There wasn't any malice in his voice or expression (more like a controlled fear, Tom noted), but he left no room for argument. "This mess is far larger than you guys know. Rinzler is only part of the problem."

Tom frowned at his boss. "You can't just… _kill_ him," he replied, stumbling over the last two words. He wanted to believe it impossible to consider his company's CEO thinking about murdering some invalid, but after everything that had happened, Tom knew that the entire situation was out of control.

Quorra scowled darkly, but Tom shook his head. "No," he confirmed.

"Or send him back," Amy added, fixing Sam with a serious look, as Tom and she stood up. Rinzler remained on the ground, unmoving. "That would be—that would be inhumane." After witnessing what the Grid looked like, Tom had to agree.

"We're not sending him back," Sam said, only sparing her a glance. Both he and Quorra were focused on Rinzler, who was now staring at Sam's knees, harmless.

Tom's brow furrowed in confusion. "Then… what?" he asked. Where _could_ they go from here?

Apparently, Sam Flynn had the answers to that. "I want your chat logs, if you have any, from the conversations," he replied shortly, his voice firm and authoritative. "If not, I want you to remember as much of it as you can." He finally looked down at Rinzler, pointing at him. "Rinzler stays here."

" _Here_?" Amy sputtered. Tom shared her shock; at ENCOM? It wasn't like this was a prison cell down here, or a hotel. They couldn't keep this a secret _here_!

"No one comes down here anymore. He'll stay in this room. We'll get him supplies in the meantime, but we cannot let him run loose, anywhere, okay?" Sam asked. There wasn't really a question there, however. It appeared the CEO had already ironed out exactly what they would do next. "It's not like we can call the cops either. We're on our own, but this is—this is my mess." Hesitance flickered in his eyes again. "The Grid was my father's creation. Anything that he made—or built—there… it's _my_ responsibility now."

Amy stared at him, her expression wary. Tom could see confrontation building up in her eyes. "…Your dad didn't make Tron," she replied after a pause. Her lips were drawn tightly together into a thin line.

The challenge wasn't appreciated. "I could have you both arrested for hacking," Sam snapped, defensive.

Tom groaned silently as the argument grew. Amy was in no mood to back down to anyone when she was like this. "I could go tell the media you're bringing computer chips to life," she replied, standing up straight as a board. "And—and tell them about the ISOs."

She was bluffing. Amy didn't know what they were exactly (she had told Tom as much), but apparently, the threat meant something, because Sam flinched and backpedaled on his own aggressive standpoint.

" _Jesus_ … we have to work together, okay?" he said, slipping from his commanding tone into a pleading one. He motioned at Rinzler helplessly. "I don't even _want_ outsiders here, but… he likes you."

Well, that was one way to put it, Tom thought, feeling strained. He glanced down at Rinzler, who didn't pay them any mind. The shivering had stopped, but he still looked pale and sickly.

"…You want us to make sure he doesn't go apeshit again?" Tom asked, tearing his gaze away. He turned to Sam, feeling a little ill himself. "Flynn, we just met him for the first time in person. It's not like he's a _dog_."

Quorra moved closer, irritated. "What? You wish to take him home with _you_?" she challenged.

Tom wished he had a witty reply to that, or a reply at all, but he wound up just standing there, realizing he didn't. Amy huffed and crossed her arms, glaring back at the other woman.

One time, Amy had brought home an abandoned puppy. Tom loved the little furball just as much as she did, but their apartment had a strict no-dogs policy (not to mention their cat threw a royal tantrum when the dog was there). They ended up giving the puppy away to friends. Somehow, Tom really doubted their apartment would welcome a potentially homicidal computer program, however, even if he was house-trained.

Standing taller, Sam shook his head. "He stays here," he repeated. "At least for tonight. Get your files and get back here in the morning. We're going to fix the virus, but if he has it, we might be able to get something useful from him to help do that."

He wasn't an experiment or some sort of test equipment. Tom wanted to protest that kind of suggestion, but he knew it wouldn't go anywhere, not now. He wasn't even sure exactly where Rinzler stood legally, if they really had to get technical at some point. Sure, he was a living being (now) and they couldn't deny that he thought and was as intelligent as any other man (current technical difficulties notwithstanding), but his origins would always be a giant red flag for any sane person to consider.

This was indeed extremely troubling.

Amy had turned and looked down at Rinzler, concern in her eyes. She crouched down again, lips pursed.

"…Rinzler?" she began and then hesitated when the program just continued to stare out at nothing. "Hey, we're… are you okay with this plan?"

Rinzler glanced at her and then looked away. "Where is this?" he muttered. He didn't seem overly concerned, but he wasn't very expressive anyway.

What a question to ask _now_ ; Tom laughed shakily. "We're in ENCOM," he replied, crouching down to his eye level. "Kevin Flynn's company. Your… birthplace, I guess." If Sam's stories about Alan Bradley's involvement was correct, then it was.

Rinzler said nothing to that, but seemed to be thinking over what Tom had just said. Unfortunately, his silence didn't help any. "He doesn't get a say," Sam said shortly, catching Amy's attention.

Almost instantly, Amy was irritated again. "Whether you like it or not, he's a real person here," she replied, just as ill-tempered as he was. "You might be—be a _god_ in the Grid, but you're only Sam Flynn here."

Cold, unimpressed eyes met hers. "Yeah, but being Sam Flynn has its perks too," Sam replied dryly. Tom didn't miss the threat in his voice.

"Ooh, a bully _with_ nerd powers," Amy began, sarcasm drenching her words. "I'm fucking _shaking_. I'd congratulate your daddy for teaching you manners, but I guess that's not—!"

Tom stood up sharply in alarm. " _Amy_!" he snapped. Amy spun around, eyes wide and full of anger, and Sam stared at him, white-faced now. Tom fixed Amy with a steady look, trying to keep the situation from spiraling out of control even more. "Help me get Rinzler up," he said, gesturing at Rinzler, who was still on the ground.

Sam waved his hand. "Just leave him," he ordered. Tom was faintly pleased that the CEO looked a little more shaken now. He motioned at the door to the small lab. "When you're ready to leave, we'll be out there." He didn't say anything about Amy's comment; he and Quorra left without another word, though Quorra sent Amy a particularly dirty look.

Tom watched the two walk further away, Quorra talking hurried to Sam about something. Turning around, he saw Amy looking at Rinzler, her eyes shining. He understood her fears, but they had to play by Flynn's rules, at least for now. There weren't any other real options.

"…We should help them," Tom whispered. He glanced at her and Amy nodded, though she looked nervous.

"Yeah." Turning, she looked down at Rinzler. He stared back blankly. "Are you going to be okay, Rinzler?"

Tilting his head, Rinzler didn't say anything. Amy bit her lip as the silence passed. She turned to Tom, panicky.

"Christ. He needs someone here," she said.

Tom shook his head. "We can't stay." They all needed time to recoup from this. It was only seven at night, but he was exhausted.

"Shit." Sighing gustily, Amy ran a hand over face. She looked at Rinzler, considering. She crouched, catching his eye. "Rinzler, we'll be back in the morning. If something bad happens, just don't… kill anyone. Okay?"

Tom didn't know what was funnier: the fact that Rinzler just _stared_ at her (God only knew what he was _thinking_ ) or that Amy's plea for nonviolence was actually needed. Since when had their lives become so… so… action-filled? It was overwhelming.

They found Quorra and Sam standing by the door to the monitor room. After quietly shutting (and _locking_ the door), neither couple spoke. Tom glanced at Amy hesitantly, nodding when she looked back.

"We'll help you," Amy said shortly, turning to Sam. She held her head high, not willing to back down even when cornered. "To figure out what to do with the virus."

"It's hurting him," Tom added. "Probably killing him, even now."

Quorra and Sam were both tense, ready for an argument. Quorra looked ready to fight that concern and to disregard it. Tom was grateful to see that Sam had doubt in his expression, however.

Finally, the CEO nodded. "…I might… need help," he said slowly. "To figure it out."

Tom smiled nervously. "We're only hackers in our spare time. We _did_ go to school for this," he said. "I might only be a security programmer, but we can help you, Flynn."

Sam didn't look too convinced and Quorra only scowled more. There was a lot at risk for them, Tom knew, but…

"It's not like we don't have a stake in this already," Tom added, crossing his arms against his chest. "You got us for criminal activity… and…" He glanced at Amy.

"We want to see that Rinzler gets out of this okay," she finished, nodding her head firmly. The resolute look in her eyes was reassuring.

Quorra bristled. She apparently did not like Rinzler, but Tom had a feeling he and Amy were going to be his only fans. "Why do you care about him?" the ISO demanded.

Tom wished he knew. It just felt like the right thing to do. They had the skills to help, potentially, so… why not? He knew that wasn't going to be a good answer, but thankfully, Amy was better with words than he was.

"He asked us for help," Amy said. Her jaw was set. "We started the job, so we'll finish it."

"This won't be easy," Sam replied warningly.

Amy tossed her hair back, gathering the nerve to grin. "Look, my laptop is already infected," she said. "Maybe it's adapted past that specific brand of programs. We can test it out there."

"Rinzler's infection might be interesting to look at because he's the source for your computer's condition, but…" Sam sighed and his defensive posture wavered. "It's a good start," he admitted. Quorra looked away, not commenting.

"Okay," Tom said. He held Amy's gaze for a second— _Are you sure? Okay._ —and then turned to Sam. "We're in."

For whatever "in" meant, he thought belatedly. Somehow, he didn't need Sam's warnings to realize just how insane this was going to get.

Eyes hardened, Sam nodded stiffly. "Good." He looked up at the elevator and then back down at them. "Eight A.M.. The secretary will let you down here." The CEO smiled faintly. "Don't be late."

 

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 **End** _**Chapter Thirteen** _ **.**

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 **A/Ns** :  
-School starts next week, so be prepared for slower updates. D:  
\- "A matter of decacycles" – I'm BS-ing it here, guys. The movie and comic verse don't match up perfectly, but I'm assuminggg that it was a short time span between the ending of the comic and C.L.U.'s _coup_.


	14. Chapter 14

 

The room was too narrow.

His observational skills were diminished by the loss of most of his visual functions; he could only rely on direct line of sight information now. The light overhead flickered and it cast shadows everywhere. This world was very dark. The room was too small.

…Where had Amy and Tom gone?

He remembered them being there—but then they were gone. He didn't remember any of them shutting the white door on the far side of the room where they had entered.

He tried to recall the details to their faces. It had been a blur then, but surely, he could just summon up the files and have a more solid glance at the two Users. He saw black hair, lighter at the top, for Amy Talbot, and a skinnier frame for the male, Tom Devlin, but—

His files were inaccessible. Tron tried to steady himself as he realized he couldn't feel the rest of his body anymore. The entire frame felt wrong. It was too small and confined. Why couldn't he feel the rest of his environment? Why wasn't he on the Grid?

Because he had followed Sam Flynn—and Tom. Out into the forbidden land, the realm of the Users. Reality. Flynn called it _reality_.

This didn't feel real, though. It felt nothing like a real place. He was numb to it all.

He stood up. The floor moved beneath him, but he got to the other side of the room. It was lined with gray boxes, indistinguishable until he got closers. Knobs, buttons, unlit glass lights—machines. They resembled nothing in the Grid, physical shape excluded.

In the cloudy screens, Rinzler caught his reflection.

 _Abhorrent_.

He didn't notice the movement first; he noticed the _pain_. He pulled back, his hand suddenly clenched and searing in pain. The screen wasn't whole anymore; he had hit it. He had broken clean through it. Why, he wasn't sure.

But it felt strangely… good.

He hit the second screen with intention that time. The pain was worse in his right hand, but it was satisfying to watch the glass shatter. He tore out the wires he could see inside the glass cover. Something sparked, but he was just getting started.

Slamming his fist into the control panel, he relished _each_ and _every_ dent. He felt the scraping of metal under his unnatural nails and the crunch of glass beneath his feet. He tore at every wire he could find, ripping into the metal and feeble coverings with everything he could muster—

The door opened to his prison and Rinzler didn't have to look up to know who was there.

" _Rinzler_ —what the _hell_ are you doing—no, Quorra, wait!"

Hands grabbed at his neck. Rinzler fumbled to grab back at his attacker, who was very strong. A limb slammed into his stomach and he couldn't breath. Falling back away from her—yes, it was the ISO—Rinzler tried to keep his balance. Sam Flynn was shouting louder, trying to stop the ISO, but Rinzler didn't want her to stop. He wanted a fight. He tried to grab a hold of her, but she was quicker, more used to her alien frame. A fist slammed into his face and he couldn't see for a moment. All he could hear was yelling—

And then footsteps outside. "Sam, what's all the noise? Why are you down here anywa—?" someone beyond shouted. " _Dear God_!"

Snarling, Rinzler turned to face the door. He saw another man staring out at him from the door, behind Sam Flynn. He was older, paler, taller, dressed in black—

Rinzler knew this User.

 _Alan-1._

Tron stared and then felt the floor shift, this time because he lost connection with his limbs. Alan-1's face blurred out of existence, but he kept hearing the loud voices overhead. The burning continued.

"—What on _EARTH_ is this, Sam? !" he heard his maker shout.

"Alan, Alan, wait a second—!"

"What is tha—? !"

"Alan," he said. He wasn't sure if he had actually said it. The face of the User blurred out of existence and Tron heard crashing.

It only occurred to him after a suddenly system shut-down that he had been the sourcing the crashing as he lost all control and collided with the floor.

 _Alan-1…_

 **0000**

The intense ringing of their phone woke Tom abruptly from a beautifully dreamless sleep. It was just pure rest, after what seemed like a week of intense life changing events (albeit, Tom knew it had only been a few hours that fit that category.) Rolling over, he grabbed the phone, intent on telling whatever heartless sod was on the other end to shove it when—

" _Get the hell back here."_

Tom stared out at the darkness of his bedroom, mind trying to catch up. "Whoa…" he said, trying to focus. "Flynn?" Why was he boss calling him so early in the morning, sounding like he was ready to murder someone?

" _I need you, back at ENCOM, right now_ ," Sam Flynn seethed. He sounded terribly loud, his voice echoing strangely, probably underground somewhere, or in a big room.

"It's like five A.M.," Tom mumbled, trying to get his body to catch up with his brain. Neither were moving very fast as he rolled over to stare at the opposite side of the room. "What's goin' on?"

" _Rinzler just set fire to laser lab, that's what!_ " Sam said harshly, his words cutting through the haze.

Tom stared at the wall for a good two seconds before the entirety of last night's drama hit him full force.

The Grid.

Rinzler.

Fixing the Grid.

Ohshit _RINZLER_.

"Oh, God, is everyone—is he okay? !" Tom exclaimed, sitting straight up. He scrambled to untangle himself from the sheets, heart racing as a million worries flashed by his mind.

Sam wasted no time getting to the point. " _Just get over here, before Quorra does something crazy and kills him_!" he snapped. The undertone of sheer panic did not escape Tom's notice. " _She doesn't exactly get the concept of 'just subdue' very well, at least not with this guy_."

Adrenaline was never supposed to surge at five o'clock in the morning, but Tom knew it was a bit unavoidable. Lightheaded, he fumbled to find his clothing on the floor. He knew he had just kicked his pants somewhere in his exhaustion last night.

"Oh, Goddamn it—Amy! Get up!" he said loudly. His hands found his rumpled pants by the corner of the bed. "We have to go!"

The bed creaked as Amy turned to look at him in the darkness. "Go where… oh, for crying out loud, what time is it?" she groaned.

"It's Rinzler!" he replied, pulling his pants on, even though he could barely see anything in the darkness. "Sam, we'll be right over," he said to the phone.

" _Hurry up_!" Sam ordered sharply before hanging up. Tom chucked the phone onto the table, scrambling to turn the bedroom lights on.

Staring up at him blearily in confusion, Amy was struggling to get up as Tom yanked on a shirt. "What's going on?" she asked, her concern growing.

Tom turned back, knowing he looked panicked. "We'll find out when we get there," he said. That was all he really knew for sure.

He was beginning to regret dreaming for an adventurous life.

 **0000**

This was becoming a habit, racing down to a secret laboratory at strange hours to confront a living computer program and the morons who brought him to life, although this time, at least Amy knew what to expect as she and Tom raced to back over to ENCOM. The janitor gave them both a strange look, considering it was way too early for workers to start showing up, but Sam greeted them at the doors, ushering them in anyway.

"What happened?" Tom demanded immediately as they got to the elevator. "Where—?"

"He's in the storage closet," Sam replied automatically, punching the button to get them down to the laser labs.

"You put him in a _closest_? !" Amy sputtered, sending the CEO a wild look. " _JESUS_ , Flynn!" The social worker inside her wanted to punch the inconsiderate brat in the face—and _yes_ , he was brat, age difference be damned.

Sam wouldn't back down on that decision, however. "It was either that or let him continue to smash the shit out of everything he could get his hands on inside that lab!" he shot back. Amy had to give it to the guy; he would stand by his decisions until the very end. "He started an electrical fire, for crying out loud!"

Tom sighed heavily and just leaned against the elevator wall, not getting involved. Amy glared at Sam, who was pointedly ignoring the both of them. However, as the elevator descended, Amy noticed that the usually uptight CEO was looking, dare she think, a bit more exhausted than normal. She had thought Rinzler would be okay if they had left him alone in that room and gotten some sleep elsewhere, but Sam looked as though he had been up anyway regardless.

Had he stayed at the lab the whole night?

"…Have you slept at all?" Amy asked suddenly.

Flinching, Sam glanced at her. "Yeah, why?" he demanded, defensive. He sounded like Tom did whenever Tom pulled an all-nighter for work and wouldn't tell her. _Men_. Always the same bullshit.

"You look like shit, no offense," she replied, arching an eyebrow as they marched out of the elevator and out onto the catwalk. "Did you even go home?"

"No." Sam pointedly didn't look at her. He focused on the familiar figure reappearing out of the apparent Rinzler-keeping-closet on the other side of the lab. "Quorra, they're here."

Quorra, eyes alight and cheeks flushed, gave both Tom and Amy a strangely desperate look as the group reassembled. "Good," she said. " _Manage_ him. I cannot do it without harming him."

Tom made a soft sound. "Good job catching the Amazonian, Flynn," he said tiredly. Sam scowled and Amy smirked, but they were all quickly distracted by Tom entering the closet, calling out, "Rinzler?"

Amy wasn't going to lie; it was beyond scary trying to inch her way around the corner to reach the open doorway after Tom. There was no telling what she was going to find in there. Rinzler wasn't making any noise, but she could still smell smoke. When she finally did peer in, she saw Tom kneeling next to Rinzler on the ground.

The program looked as though he had decided to go head to head with his own reflection in a mirror and attacked the glass. There were dozens of tiny, but bloody cuts on his face and his hands, which were both still gloveless. Part of his one sleeve looked burned and when Amy looked closer, half of his left hand was bright red. Rinzler just sat there, hands at his side, looking… strangely empty.

"Oh… _God_." Amy looked at his hands and then back up at Sam, exasperated. "Can you at least go get a first aid kit? ! His hands are bleeding!" She hoped the burns weren't serious either.

Sam vanished from the door with a flustered look on his face, but Amy didn't care what he thought. They never should have just left the poor program by himself.

"It—it looks pretty shallow," Tom said, kneeling down in front of Rinzler. He had more medical training than Amy did, but he didn't look sure of himself. "Christ, it's been ages since I've done anything first aid."

"Well, I doubt we could call your mom to patch him up," Amy replied dryly. Tom's mother was a nurse, but unfortunately lived back on the East coast. As if they'd bring her into _this_ mess, Amy thought darkly. "We'll just clean the cuts then. Or maybe take him to a hospital."

"No hospitals," Sam ordered, reappearing at the door. He handed Tom the first-aid kit that looked far too old for a company like ENCOM to have. Amy wouldn't be surprised in the band-aids were expired. "Not unless he's hemorrhaging."

"Lovely. You're such a merciful leader," Amy snapped. She tried to focus on the matter at hand, namely, the catatonic patient. She crouched and tried to get Rinzler's attention, waving her hand warily at him. "Hey, Rinzler. Rinzler?"

For a moment, she thought the program looked at her, but his cold gray eyes just stayed fixed on the ground, or rather, no where in particular. He was just staring out into the air, not seeing anything.

"…Rinzler?" she asked, trying and failing to shake that coldness from her gut. She did not like that empty look, not one bit. "T-Tron? Hello?"

He just sat there, staring out at nothing. The only way Amy knew he was still alive was because she could hear him breathing faintly. Looking over at her, Tom looked terribly worried. "…Why isn't he responding?" he asked quietly. Amy shook her head, unsure of that herself.

Behind them, a new, unfamiliar voice said, "I believe that's because of me."

Amy turned around from her spot on the floor, ready to yell at Sam for bringing someone else down here, but as she looked up at the closet entrance—

Part of her mind stumbled graceless on its ass and refused to get up.

In the doorway was Rinzler.

In a business suit.

And had white hair.

And was definitely, totally and irrevocably _not_ Rinzler.

"Who—HOLY SHIT!" Tom yelled, startled, falling over the Rinzler on the floor, gazing up at the new not-Rinzler with about as much calmness as Amy was feeling.

 _HOLY SHIT indeed._

"Wh-who—? !" she sputtered, trying to stand up. The man in the door just stared at her, lips drawn tightly together in a grimace, hands in his pockets. Sam stood beside him, frowning deeply.

"This is Alan Bradley," Sam explained slowly and reluctantly. He looked rather ill now himself. "He…"

Sam looked about as prepared for this as Amy felt. She knew, sort of, who Alan Bradley was. He had been a big name in the 80s and 90s for ENCOM and programming, but she thought he had moved up the ranks to some executive branch or something. This man in front of her looked like a businessman, aside from the weary and dark look he was giving her.

"…wrote Tron," Alan Bradley offered. He sounded hoarse, but he managed to smile politely at both Amy and Tom, even if the gesture didn't quite meet his eyes. "You must be the hackers. Sam's enlightened me to the situation."

Enlightened? Enlightened? As in, told him the whole damn story? "…Oh, boy…" Tom was saying quietly. He smiled nervously, glancing between Rinzler and Alan. "He really does look like…"

Saying it out loud would have been too wrong. Amy couldn't help the sudden appearance of goosebumps on her arms. This was so… so… _wrong_.

Alan looked down at Rinzler and seemed to be looking at something else besides the sick program. "…Yeah. He does," he admitted after a moment. He made a wistful sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "I thought… Flynn had been joking this whole time." He looked up at the ceiling with shining eyes. "My God."

He shook his head and suddenly pushed away from the door. Amy hadn't even noticed he had been leaning against it, probably to keep himself from falling over. All of them could understand that feeling. Sam looked out at his father's friend left their line of sight, grim. He looked back at Amy and Tom.

"Help him, please," he said, before walking off after Alan.

Normally, she would have been irritated to be dumped with a task without much thanks or recognition, but nothing in this situation was _normal_. Tom was already back in front of Rinzler with the first aid kit, looking through it for anything useable.

Questions and explanations could wait, she reasoned. Now, they had a job to do.

Reaching down, Amy picked up Rinzler's hand in her own. His eyes, and only his eyes, flickered toward her. Amy smiled, knowing it was about as much as anyone could really offer him.

Then, she started to pull the pieces of glass and metal from his broken skin.

 **0000**

Not many coherent things had gone through his mind in the initial hour of watching Sam, his girlfriend, and then two more engineers, run around like lunatics, taking care of a man Alan was rather certain had stolen his face. Given the time (and coffee) to recuperate as the chaos subsided and an uneasy silence fell over the lab, Alan was left standing alone, nursing a burgeoning headache and the realization of something far larger and more terrifying than he had ever imagined possible.

 _Flynn… what have you_ done _?_

This wasn't science. This was playing God. This was… it wasn't… _right_.

Alan fought the urge for a cigarette. He hadn't had one in ten years, and now, it was all he wanted. He wanted to just forget about this entire morning, this entire incident. He had thought that Sam's sudden interest in the company had been because of some emotional revelation he had had in Flynn's Arcade. That's why he had gone after the young CEO after he hadn't answered his calls all night and his secretary was complaining about "secret hours" down in the old laser lab.

This wasn't a revelation of the emotional kind, however. This had been a physical one—a smack to the face, a shotgun blast to the chest.

So many things made sense, in completely insane ways. Flynn had been gone for twenty-years because he had been inside a computer he had created, thanks to technology Dr. Gibbs had been making right under their noses. That night he, Lora and Flynn had hacked into ENCOM, Flynn had discovered it. He had turned it into something… else. Something he could manipulate. The Grid.

Flynn hadn't told him a damn thing. Alan wanted to feel angry over that, but it was pointless now. Flynn was dead, from Sam's confirmation. All that was left of Alan's long-time friend was his son, a broken network and a woman Sam called an Isomorphic organism—whatever the hell _that_ was.

All that was left of Alan's involvement, as meager as it seemed, was… Tron.

That name meant little to Alan now. It had been his finest security program achievement he had built from necessity. He had no idea why Flynn had insisted on taking the alias and using it for his video game series. Alan hadn't dabbled in security programming since he had risen to the board of directors for ENCOM, but whenever he thought of his previous jobs, he always thought fondly of the program he had used to outmaneuver ENCOM's MCP.

But now, Tron was a bit more than just a fond memory of achievement. He wasn't inside a computer now. He was sitting less than fifty feet away from him.

"Here. Rinzler, sweetie, have some water. I know you hated the coffee, but you need to drink," one of the new programmers was saying, awkwardly trying to get the motionless man on the closet floor to respond. He didn't move, even when she pressed the cup of water into his hand. It was like watching someone dealing with a coma patient. There was no recognition in those vacant eyes.

…Alan's eyes.

Sam had explained in a rush that programs took on the likeness of their Users. Tron was Alan's shadow in the computer world, built to do the necessary functions Alan needed to do inside the machine. Programmers put parts of themselves into their programs, not matter how insignificant. Tron had been Alan's pride and joy, so of course he had put more of himself into him than the average protocol.

If Flynn wasn't already dead, Alan would have killed him—at least made him realize just how much trouble he had dumped post-mortem on his son and friends.

As for now, there wasn't much they could do while trying to figure out where to put the damaged program. Alan wasn't sure what he could have done to help, but… Tron was his, wasn't he? If anything, Alan had written him into being. If that didn't place a decent amount of responsibility on Alan's shoulders to at least try to help, he didn't know what would.

Gathering his courage, Alan walked back over to the closet area. The two programmers had left to talk with Sam in hurried whispers, most likely about what to do next with Rinzler. Alan could sympathize with Sam and his decision to keep it within ENCOM. This would be more than a bombshell to drop on the world; this was more complicated than just some secret project Flynn had hidden from the world.

This was… something else entirely.

The door to the closet was open but Alan didn't immediately walk in. Rinzler was sitting silently and unmoved toward the back, staring out at nothing. Alan swallowed mechanically, urging himself forward into the enclosed space.

 _Here goes nothing._

He silently sat down on the cement floor, ignoring the dirt. Rinzler's stare was interrupted by his presence and was suddenly fixed on Alan's face instead. Alan did all he could to keep himself sitting there, staring back; it was like the man in front of him was staring into his soul rather than just his face.

"Tron," Alan began, though it came out sounding more like a question than anything else. He cleared his throat. "That's… your name, right?" He knew the others called him Rinzler, but wasn't Tron supposed to be his real name?

Tron stared at Alan, before slowly tilting his head to the side, just slightly. "…Alan-1," the program replied. His voice sounded _horribly_ hoarse. "User."

Alan nodded, wrapping his arms around his knees. "Yes."

Tron held his gaze for a moment before looking away. The lines around his eyes and the dark circles beneath them remained. Alan wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to do, if there was anything he could do.

"…Tron?" he ventured at last, trying to get a look at the program's face. Tron didn't look up at him, but he did seem to draw further in on himself.

"I am sorry," Tron said. It was more like a mutter, spoken to the floor.

Alan frowned at what he had said, however. "What? For what, I mean?" he asked, both curious and apprehensive.

Reluctantly, Tron looked up at his maker. Those eyes… were terrifyingly piercing. They were the only thing that reminded Alan he wasn't looking into a mirror. "I failed," the program said, blunt.

"…I'm sorry," Alan tried to say, more than uneasy. "I, uh, I don't follow." He didn't know this man, not personally. Sure he might have created him (and that was difficult to accept in and of itself), but he really had no connection to him. At least not recently.

Tron, apparently, didn't feel the same. "I failed you. My creator, my User," he replied. Alan was astonished the program was talking as much as he was, after being silent for so long, but Tron kept going. He sounded… desperate. "I failed my purpose."

Something about this was beginning to feel strange not right. "I don't think—," Alan began, trying to cut the program off before he got more upset.

"I was created to protect the Users," Tron interrupted. His eyes, intense and bright, never left Alan's. "I did not. I led the Grid to its destruction, I helped to kill thousands, I—"

Tron drew back and gave Alan a pained expression. "I let Flynn die," he said, so simply, it was like a slap to the face.

So… this was guilt. Alan watched his creation flounder there, struggling to keep up with that feeling of doubt and self-accusation, too surprised to say much of anything. Tron might have been a computer program, but he felt. He had guilt over what had happened.

This would have been fascinating if the situation weren't already terrifying to contemplate. Alan might not have been there in the beginning, but he was still involved with this. He was still… connected to this.

"…Sam was telling me what happened," Alan began, catching Tron's attention. "It wasn't your fault, Tron. Not from what I heard." What he had heard amounted to torture and brainwashing, to say the least. He never would have thought that was applicable to computer programs, but when he really considered it, that made a decent amount of sense. It was disturbing, nonetheless.

"It is my fault," Tron said quietly.

Alan sighed heavily, leaning back against the wall. "That… C.L.U. fellow… he… he made you do it, didn't it?" he asked, trying to grab hold of something so he could keep up with the conversation. He felt like he should at least try to cheer the program up.

"Regardless," Tron replied. He spoke firmly, as if there wasn't room for an opposing viewpoint. "I am responsible for my actions. Flynn… had been counting on me. Like you and the other Users had when confronting… MCP." Suddenly, Tron winced, his eyes narrowing. "My head… hurts. I cannot process data without pain now."

"I'd wager you'd have a pretty nasty headache from all of this," Alan replied, shaking his head. This was giving _Alan_ a headache, if anything. "You're sick, Tron. I-I have no idea where to begin, contemplating program-to-human biology or physics, but, if you had a virus once, it has to be a problem now."

Tron looked at the ground, unmoving. "Deserve it."

Alan frowned. "I don't think you do." He didn't know the man well enough to judge him that way, and even if he did know him… no one deserved something like this.

The program shuddered, the first moment he had really made other than turning his head. "You… are my creator. Flynn, my friend." Tron clenched his eyes shut. "I am sorry, Alan-1. I am sorry."

The sheer honest remorse in Tron's voice and eyes told Alan more than the halting and choppy words did. Whatever had happened, Tron knew about and regretted everything. Alan knew, because it reminded him all too much of himself. Tron couldn't lie to him.

"I am too," Alan replied quietly, meaning it. "I wish Flynn had told me… about you. About the Grid." He laughed, the gesture aimed at himself. "I should have been there." What he could have done differently… he didn't know. Maybe Flynn still would have been alive. Maybe Tron… wouldn't have become this.

Tron's eyes opened, even though one of them twitched. "…You have no reason to apologize," he said, struggling to speak, either because of his emotions or his physical problems.

"I have every reason to feel bad about this," Alan replied shortly. He didn't know why he did, but damn it, he was there now, wasn't it? "I'm… just as involved, even if this is the first time I've heard of it." Looking up at the ceiling, Alan shook his head, jaw clenched. "God… Flynn, you sure left us with one hell of a mess."

He wondered what Flynn would have said to that accusation. He was always proud of his creations. There was no doubt in Alan's mind

"Flynn did what he could," Tron said quietly. Alan was amazed at how pale his double was.

Alan nodded. "As did you," he said. He hadn't been there to see it, but he knew Tron had been the best program he could have been under Alan's directives. With Flynn, he knew Tron would have flourished even more.

Immediately, Tron broke eye contact, shoulders hunching up more. "…I did nothing," the program replied. There was almost no self-confidence in this creature. From Alan's point of view, that didn't seem right.

Outside the room, Alan saw Quorra walk by, flashing the two in the closet a quick look. They were expecting Tron to snap. Alan didn't think that was possible, considering the program in front of him looked ready to pass out more than he was ready to fight.

Alan sighed quietly, resting his chin on his hand, observing his creation. "No… I believe you did everything you could. That's the way I designed you. I didn't build the perfect warrior, I built one that would go as far as he could." Tron looked up at Alan and the programmer smiled gently. "And you did. I'm proud of you, Tron."

The look of pure awe mixed with disbelief on Tron's face was heartbreaking. It didn't last for long. The expression flickered and died, leaving Tron blank-faced. He turned away from Alan, eyes heavy-lidded. He stared out at nothing, or so it seemed.

"…I feel ill," he admitted hoarsely. That had to be an understatement, but it was an improvement for the program from his catatonic episode earlier.

Alan nodded, clasping his hands together. His fingers were ice-cold to the touch. Tron's must have been even worse. "I'll talk to Sam into getting you some help," Alan said, trying to be reassuring. "It's not right to leave a man in pain."

Tron's eyes lifted once again and those empty eyes met Alan's weakly. "I am just a program," he said simply. "I do not deserve your mercy."

What sort of evils could make a person reach that self-depreciating conclusion?

"All men deserve mercy, Tron," Alan replied, smiling sadly. "And you're a man if I can shake your hand like one."

Reaching out, Alan offered his hand to his creation. Tron looked down at the extended hand, unexpressive, but slowly, he reached back and grasped the hand. It was an unnatural realization, Alan thought, as he took hold of his own computer program. It was like shaking hands with his own soul. Tron's hands were just as cold as Alan's were. They felt the same, although the program's felt smaller and weaker under Alan's grip.

Tron retreated, dropping Alan's hand first. He tucked both of his pale white and bruised hands under his sides, hiding them. "…Thank you, Alan-1," he said. His voice was far too quiet to really fit the rest of his frame.

Alan could only smile reassuringly. "Just… Alan will do," he replied. He stood up carefully, gesturing at the door. "Come on. Let's get you some better clothes."

Tron didn't stand up. His eyes followed his creator upward, however. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, surprising Alan.

If he kept asking questions like that, Alan would feel more like a philosopher than a programmer. "Like I said, everyone deserves kindness, Tron," Alan replied, inclining his head. Tron's insistent downplay of his own worth was beginning to seem more than just

Then, abruptly, those sad eyes on Tron's face changed. Cold eyes changed to icy-sharp, dangerous ones. "I am not Tron," the program said. Everything about him spontaneously became sharp—his posture, his defensiveness, his voice. "I do not deserve that name."

The fear Alan should have had never surfaced. He just stared down at his creation, torn between wanting to understand and just finding an end to this whole mess. "Who are you, then?" he asked gently.

The program on the floor drew backwards into the wall. "I am Rinzler. I am…" A strange look flickered across his face, one of pain. Tron—Rinzler sank back to the ground, clutching at his head. "Hurts…" he hissed, sounding on the verge of tears.

Alan could only stand there, helpless. "We'll help you, Tron…" he said, before stopping himself. He amended with, "Rinzler."

Tron—Rinzler—just clenched his eyes shut tighter, gritting his teeth. "I don't deserve the name you gave me," he kept saying, sounding the very definition of miserable. "I have failed. I have failed you all."

Whether or not it was true, Alan knew they had to snap the program out of that line of thinking. He was out of control, but they could help him. "I don't see it that way," Alan tried to say. He held out a hand that was ignored. "Come on. You need medical attention."

"I deserve deactivation," Rinzler whispered. He was staring back at the floor, not seeing Alan anymore.

"Tron," Alan tried. He tried not to sound too desperate. "Come with me." Rinzler only drew further in on himself.

There was a long silence, punctuated only by the few sounds coming from outside the closet. Rinzler didn't unfold from the hunched circle, but Alan could hear his breathing even out, slowly.

"C.L.U. was wrong," Rinzler suddenly said. He sounded calmer. When he looked up from under his arms, Alan could see his eyes were still sharp, but less wild. "Users are gods."

That wasn't a comment Alan was used to hearing. In fact, it very much disturbed him. He wasn't a god and neither was Flynn, no matter what sort of world he managed to create in the Grid.

Outwardly, Alan forced himself to smile, chuckling at the idea, even if it made him feel sick. "I sure hope we're not like gods. Gods aren't really reliable," he said. He kept his hand out toward Rinzler. "Come on."

It was a fool's goal, really. Rinzler wouldn't acknowledge him after that. Alan withdrew his hand, frowning deeply. He wasn't prepared to deal with something like this, no matter how much he wanted to help.

Outside the room, Alan found Sam waiting for him, Quorra not too far away. Both waited expectantly for his view on the matter. He was going to give it to them.

"You _are_ going to help him," Alan said directly to Sam. There was no argument in his voice. If nothing was done, Alan would see that it _was_.

Sam, being the young man Alan knew all too well, only nodded. "We'll do our best," he agreed. He wasn't cruel or unfeeling; Alan knew that, even if their new programmer friends didn't. Alan did not envy Sam's position in this, however.

"I'll help when I can, too," Alan replied, withholding a heavy sigh. "What can I do?"

"Something tells me we'll just need you around," Sam said, crossing his arms nervously.

Across the room, Alan saw the two programmers from earlier—Amy and Tom, if he recalled correctly—standing by nervously. "Do you think we can trust those kids?" Alan asked, turning back to Sam.

Quorra didn't look too happy, but Sam seemed to think they could. "He trusts them," he said, looking back at where Rinzler was sitting.

"Then that's enough for me," Alan said, knowing that they would need as much trust coming to and from Rinzler as they could muster. Gazing lingering on said-creation, Alan shook his head. "He is supposed to be me, isn't it?"

It was so surreal to even think possible. That didn't change the fact that it was real and in front of them.

"I'm sorry, Alan," Sam said, grim. "For bringing you into this."

Alan shook his head firmly. "No, Sam. I'd be more upset if you hadn't," he said, glancing between his godson and Rinzler. "Flynn probably meant well by not including me, but… we're all that's left for Tron now. I should have been there."

"You are now," Sam insisted.

"Yes," Quorra suddenly spoke up. She inclined her head toward the closet, severe. "Now is a time for change… for all of us."

Alan laughed, the sound empty of any real amusement. "Yeah," he agreed. "Here's to hoping it'll be for the better."

Rinzler stayed on the floor and Alan stayed where he was, watching, taking the situation in as the severity of it all trickled in second by second. Sam made plans and Quorra followed silently, the warrior in her not giving an inch. Amy and Tom doted on Alan's creation, who barely gave them any recognition at all.

So… they had options to consider.

The first step: fixing an emotionally and psychologically damaged computer program.

This was not going to be easy.

 

* * *

 **End** _**Chapter Fourteen** _ **.**

* * *

 **  
**


	15. Chapter 15

 

Quorra was not happy.

She cared very deeply for Sam and if he asked her to do something, she would generally take up the task with pride and affection. He had given her a home and was doing his best—far more than his best, most often—to help her fulfill her destiny. He was also his father's son; she owed Flynn her life, and with him gone, that debt fell to Sam now.

However, there was a limit to what she was willing to do, even for Sam.

"He is going to derezz all of us the moment we let our guard down!" she hissed angrily once she and Sam were away from the other others. Sam sent her a patient look and Quorra rolled her eyes. " _Murder_ , whatever!"

The entire problem was the program-to-human transition, so she was not feeling very sympathetic toward Sam's intentions to convert her to use human lingo.

"You're probably the only person here who can help, Quorra," Sam pleaded. He was so tired (she knew he hadn't gotten a decent night's sleep at all; they had spent the time trying to figure out battle plans) and so exasperated, but that didn't move Quorra from her position.

"I don't _want_ to help him!"

Sam glared. "He's about as capable as a freaking newborn. Or some mentally handicapped kid. He's not going to survive "

For the life of her, Quorra wanted to say, "Good," and drop the conversation. She had no love for the program called Rinzler, no matter if he had once been the legendary Tron.

The humans—they didn't _understand_! An altered program, no matter its origins, was changed. Permanently. There was no going backwards and especially not with one of C.L.U.'s mangled creations. This was not fixable with human medicine (a branch called psychology, Alan kept saying); Quorra had seen many altered programs and had to kill every one that had gone after her. They were lost to salvation. It was tragic, but a fact.

Sam, unfortunately, had too large a heart for this. He believed as much as the hackers did that Tron was salvageable from that wreckage known as Rinzler. They wanted to try to teach him how to be Tron again, as if they could reverse the damages CLU had done to him. Quorra had no faith that such a transformation was possible. It was hopeless.

Quorra had to admit, the human mind was different. She didn't consider herself human, at least, not yet. She couldn't understand so much of what Sam said sometimes, like expressions or emotional things. But that didn't mean they could afford to assume Rinzler was a faster student at becoming human and therefore easier to trust. If anything, he appeared far worse off than Quorra had been when she first came to the real world.

His disorientation did not fade much from the first few moments coming out of the Grid. Walking was a challenge, but with Amy and Tom insisting on babying him, he got better. He didn't seem eager to walk or move that much, as with the disappearing confusion ending, his aggressive distrust in everyone around him returned. Quorra scowled openly back at him; no words were needed between them to show how little either program like the other.

Sam wanted fast results. They were running out of time, he said. Alan Bradley was going to take over any of Sam's responsibilities for the meanwhile, but he promised to be around as often as possible. Rinzler seemed to shut down around the older human, which Quorra saw as a good thing, but none of the humans thought the same. They wanted Rinzler active and responding (which Quorra thought was an insane desire), so Alan agreed to back off until they got him "stabilized." He would never be stable, but the humans ignored her warnings.

When he finally snapped and she had to save Sam from getting derezzed, she would not hold back the "I Told You So" she already wanted to say.

What was worse was that Sam insisted she be involved in this stabilization. She had experience, he said. She _understood_ Rinzler and Rinzler knew she was a program as well. Quorra refused adamantly at first, but Sam pleaded with her until she finally agreed to try. Only for Sam's sanity, however.

Quorra would not touch the other program, so the two humans, Amy and Tom agreed to do anything that required touching the other program. Even standing there, giving directions or showing examples of how to behave was too close for comfort. Rinzler watched her with as much distaste as she showed to him.

The first step had been nourishment. They could no longer retrieve energy from the Grid. Quorra had let Sam explain that and Rinzler had just stared at him, unresponsive as usual. Tom decided the best option would be to manually show Rinzler how to eat, all of the humans constantly reminding the inert Rinzler he needed to do it.

"It's called food. You need it," the human said, placing a plate of pancakes in front of Rinzler, who only glared at the food as if it were some sort of corrupted data.

Tom spent forty minutes— _forty_ —trying to show Rinzler how to use a fork and knife, cut up his food and then eat it. Chewing and swallowing alone took twenty minutes. Quorra knew that she had had problems with it herself, but watching the other program at the table choke and put up the biggest fuss about consuming the food made her realize she had been way better at this.

Bathroom duties and cleansing activities were solely male jobs, Amy had told Quorra firmly, much to Sam and Tom's horror. Quorra had picked up on showering easily from television her first night in Sam's home, plus from a few fiction books Flynn had given her to read. Rinzler had none of that knowledge, however, so he had to be shown.

Quorra hadn't been in the employee showering room, but judging form Tom and Sam's expressions, it had been… painful. Rinzler didn't look any happier, so Quorra took pleasure from that.

"He looks like a drowned cat," Amy lamented, fussing over Rinzler unnecessarily. Rinzler seemed to suck up to the attention as well, looking even more pitiable, which only made Quorra scowl.

Clothing was also an interesting experience. He couldn't walk around in the Grid-clothing he had in the beginning, Sam insisted, much like he had with Quorra. She liked dark colors, and most likely Rinzler would not settle for anything else either. The main issue was size. Rinzler was much shorter than Tom and Sam claimed the program was too skinny for his clothing. Tom wound up going shopping during the middle of the day, which left Quorra to show Rinzler had to do simpler things like brushing his hair or picking things up. He was a slow learner and that made Quorra feel strangely… better.

But then, of course, he had to be arrogant about the things he succeeded at. The dazed look in his eyes had long since vanished and he was taking in the sights of the world around him quite seriously now. He didn't say much, thankfully, but the look in his eyes when he succeeded in something was more than enough.

What bothered Quorra the most was when he did something better than she did and had the gall to gloat—wordlessly—about it. The cool look he sent her was nothing but arrogance and she seethed silently about it. If she brought it up, Sam would have scolded her for trying to pick a fight. It wasn't picking a fight if the other person was being rude.

Quorra didn't understand why Tom or Amy had sympathy for Rinzler still, even after they learned of what he had done. At least Rinzler was calm around them and didn't seem intent on harming them… yet. He let them touch his skin and whenever one of them entered his line of sight, he followed them with his eyes, not cautiously, but rather, intrigued.

"He's definitely improving, at least attention span wise," Tom noted, appearing relieved. Sam made a comment about how it was good Rinzler wasn't 'brain damaged' and the other humans seemed to agree.

That didn't stop the twitching. Quorra noticed it, saying nothing, because surely Sam and the others noticed it. Rinzler twitched. A lot. It was less now that he was clothed in warmer clothing and was fed, seemingly adapting to the real world better than he had earlier. When one of the humans touched him, he tensed up, but whenever he sat too long without being touched, the twitching got worse. It sometimes got so bad, he couldn't lift things. A simple comforting hand from one of his human guides ceased that, but only afterward.

Quorra wasn't sure what to make of it. Perhaps the virus. Or more likely, the damaged programming. He no longer made the clicking sound as he had on the Grid, the sound poorly repurposed programs were infamous for. CLU had done an excellent job repurposing the ex-hero of the city, but obviously the transition wasn't smooth. It was most likely this damage was permanent. It was odd that being touched helped to sooth the discomfort, so maybe it was equally linked to the transition to this world. She didn't really care enough to wonder more than that.

She continued to show him menial things and he never thanked her once. He never spoke to anyone, actually, but that was beside the point. Sam was always nearby watching, but Quorra suspected that it was mostly to make sure she and Rinzler weren't fighting. The lack of trust might have been appropriate, but it still bothered Quorra. She wasn't a loose cannon, unlike Rinzler.

Quorra was resolved to be angry with Sam over everything—the teaching, the lack of trust—and it wasn't hard to stay angry as she helped put several food items away toward the end of the day. Sam might have been the only family she had left, but she was _very_ displeased with him.

Later, when Sam hugged her tightly and whispered, " _Thank you_ ," into her ear, Quorra tried to remain angry.

She couldn't. Instead, she nodded and smiled, if only for his sake. They had a large road to travel, as Flynn might say, and they had barely started the journey.

No matter what Sam asked her to do, she would walk that road with him. Always.

 **0000**

It was like a human behavior camp for children raised by wolves, Sam thought absently. It could have been a great set-up for a sitcom, if political correctness wasn't an issue. Sadly, he realized this wasn't television. Rinzler was actually sitting fifteen feet away from him and he had a bunch of computer nerds teaching him how to be human.

Life didn't get much stranger, Sam realized, unless something else stumbled out of the messy legacy his father had unfortunately landed him with.

The day had passed without much drama. Quorra was mad with him and Sam was about ready to crash from exhaustion, but everyone was alive and Rinzler was semi-humanized. It was a good head start.

Tom had bought a bunch of miscellaneous objects at the dollar store when he had gone out and had returned with what he called, Special Needs toys. Those included a plastic top to spin, a rubber ball with knobs on it and a mirror. Rinzler took to those simple objects very fast, at first amazed by his reflection. It didn't last too long with that however; he seemed to grow agitated over something he saw in the mirror, so Amy took that away. The tactile ball was intriguing for the program; Sam remembered how intense Quorra was when it came to sensations without the Grid being involved, so it must have been surreal for Rinzler still.

Secretly, Sam was just happy Rinzler was distracted and not causing mayhem. That was pleasant enough in and of itself.

"I'm surprised how much he's improved, really," he commented out loud when Tom joined him by the stairs. Rinzler was seated at an old lab table with Amy, who was showing him how to spin the top on the flat surface.

"You think?" Tom asked, smiling at the sight. It was remarkably… domestic. That only made the moment more surreal for Sam, of course, since he knew this was anything but normal.

The CEO nodded. "Yeah. Quorra took a while to get used to food and clothing and all, too," he said. "He really likes you two."

Tom laughed. "Really?"

"Yup. He didn't even try to snap your wrist when you show him how to tie his shoe," Sam replied, grinning. The sight had been quite amusing, especially when Quorra sarcastically suggested Velcro when the other program failed to tie his own laces.

Tom sent him a strained look. "Hilarious, Mr. Flynn." Sam laughed anyway.

It was interesting to note that Quorra and Rinzler had developed something akin to a rivalry. Or at least, it seemed that way. Quorra demonstrated a few human actions, like pulling on a jacket or brushing her teeth and, when Rinzler failed and she snidely corrected him, Rinzler would flawlessly imitate her the second time. He seemed to be competing to be better than she was at certain things, too.

For example, Quorra could not open tightly screwed on lids very well; her dexterity was still adapting to the physics of this world. Rinzler noted her fumbling and expertly opened the jar when it was his turn. Quorra's scowl was priceless. Sam didn't want to mention it, in case Quorra was unaware they were in a race to be the better human. Sam doubted she'd take the accusation well.

Quorra was a great help in the end. By having another program-turned-human around, Rinzler seemed more confident in his own skills. When Amy led him around by the hand to practice walking in a straight line, he sometimes glanced over at Quorra, as in making sure she could do it too and he wasn't trying something completely impossible.

Sam still didn't trust them alone. Even if Rinzler's manners were improving, he doubted the two newly created humans would behave and/or not kill each other.

Quorra had been busy putting food back into the mini-fridge they had swindled down to the basement earlier, but she walked back over to the two men, watching Rinzler with a dulled look of dislike. Sam sighed. He hoped they got over their antagonistic stage soon.

Amy, after making sure Rinzler was significantly distracted, joined the three soon after, apparently sensing the need to regroup. The whole day had been dedicated to "human training" and it was almost six.

"He's definitely better with walking and clothing now," Amy announced cheerfully when she got closer. Rinzler could have overheard them if he tried, but Sam wasn't too worried about it. The program probably hadn't mastered 'multitasking' yet. "The food thing you said takes awhile, but I give him a decent grade on his first real day of human-hood."

"Good," Sam said, smiling. That was one less worry he had then.

Amy cleared her throat, catching his attention. "Only one problem I have, Flynn," she began. That set off warning bells in Sam's head, only adding to his headache, that hadn't left him in the last seventy-two hours.

"Yeah?" he asked, dreading an answer.

"He's sick." Amy spoke bluntly, giving Sam a severe look. "He's still pale, he shakes and his skin around his eyes and fingers are blue."

"I know," Sam said, closing his eyes for a moment. He had been keeping tabs on it, secretly hoping the ill-look would leave Rinzler, but it hadn't. Quorra had been a little sick-looking in the beginning too, but she was fine now. Rinzler was definitely not right. Sam turned to his three-person counsel and frowned. "How are we going to fix this?"

Tom hesitated. "Fix…. The virus?" he asked, bewildered. Both Quorra and Amy looked unsure as well.

"He's not well. Like, he's not going to be better," Sam continued, all but Rinzler watching him carefully now. He thought about how to phrase what he wanted to say. "…I mean… not like I personally care if he keels over after everything he did to us, but if that virus is actually inside him now? We should help."

"How merciful of you," Amy said dryly, her glare only lukewarm.

Sam exhaled sharply. "You're biased."

"So are you!" she accused.

" _Jesus Christ_ —listen." Sam glared at her and then at Quorra and Tom. Quorra looked just as irritated as Amy was, but for the opposite reason. They all had to be sensible about this, including him. "I am _not_ the bad guy here. Rinzler is _insane_. Maybe… that's unfixable. But he's unwell physically too. We need to help him and I really doubt a trip to the hospital will help."

His father never would have let him walk away from an injured man, especially not Tron, even if it was just his shadow. Rinzler's state was Flynn's responsibility and now, it was Sam's. He would not let Rinzler die when Sam could still help him.

Plus, the virus. They had to be worried about that. If Rinzler was infected, other programs could have been as well. If that spread to the outside world somehow, they would have a huge problem on their hands. They still had to be worried about how Rinzler got out of the Grid, too; they would have to keep a close eye on the technology news reports in case any signs of a new virus was out there.

"I never thought of the consequences of bringing a virus-infected program into this world would be possible," Quorra murmured. She didn't have any sympathy for Rinzler, but she at least understood how severe the situation was.

"Me neither," Sam admitted, rubbing his face tiredly. Alan was going to be dropping in for tech support when he could and he promised to make new security programs for the Grid in his spare time as well. Other than that… they were alone in figuring this out.

Tom was quiet for a while, observing Rinzler, before turning back to his boss. "What do you suggest, Sam?" he asked, severe.

Sam sighed. "Well, for starters… we take him back to the Grid," he said. Immediately, Quorra drew back, her eyes wide with anger. Sam waved his hands urgently, trying to keep her from panicking. "Because! Because, look, Quorra: he's helpless. We don't have to go in there with him to fix a virus." He gave her a pointed look. "One keystroke and he's dead. Gone. _Forever_. Make sure _he_ knows that and we can make the adjustments."

"The virus was never cured," Quorra began, weary.

"Because dad never got around to it, right?" Sam countered. He smiled and clasped her arm, trying to be reassuring. "We get him there and figure out how to fix it. Fix it if we can, from outside the Grid. And while we do that… we make other adjustments. Make sure he can't attack us."

Immediately, Amy bristled. "Brainwash him again? !" she exclaimed.

"No! No!" Sam shouted, trying to keep their discussion rational. Amy was too damn defensive. "Just… no _weapons_. No fighting capabilities. That should be a simple on-and-off function, I hope."

Amy scowled, but Tom seemed more rational about the matter. "I guess that's fair," he said. Amy looked away, so she must have agreed.

"From there, maybe being back in the Grid and without the virus, we can help him get back to being Tron," Sam continued, trying to get them on board for this. He gave Quorra a desparate look. "We can try, Quorra."

Quorra shook her head, firm. "It's in vain," she said.

"We can _try_ ," Sam replied, meaning it. His father… his father just never knew about Rinzler. Or had the chance to fix things.

Maybe Tron still had a chance.

"Okay… I agree," Tom announced. Amy nodded as well. Both programmers exchanged frowns. "Not like we had much say in the matter, but okay."

Sam smiled, relieved.

And then he realized something. Something horrible.

"Wait… oh… crap." Sam swore loudly, jerking away from the stunned Quorra in frustration. " _Damn it_!"

"What, Sam?" Quorra exclaimed, shocked by his anger. Sam wanted to punch the wall so bad, but that would have set the wrong example for the impressionable program (and Rinzler, who was now looking over at Sam in suspicion.)

"The Grid…" Sam began, trying to calm down himself. "It's…" Words failed him. _Oh, Goddamn it…!_

Tom almost read his mind, catching the bewildered women's attentions. "…It was really bad when we went in there," he said, awkwardly. "Total mess. Unless crumbling black rocky fields was how it looked before."

Quorra looked stricken. Sam had told her of what they had seen in the Grid, but not all of it. "Of course not. This is terrible," the ISO breathed. She looked sad. "…All of those programs…"

"Most of them were corrupted," Sam told her, regretting it. He should have been helping them, but it was too late, most likely. "Damn it! I was… I was hoping I could wait to fix it all."

Why was this all happening at once? Quorra, the ISO program, Rinzler, Tron, the Grid—

"We can't fix Rinzler in a place like that," Tom said, looking at them all. He didn't seem inclined on budging from that position either, even when Quorra frowned at him. "We'd have to stabilize the Grid and _then_ him."

"That could take months!" Sam exclaimed. All of the facts rolled across his mind. There was so much work to do. The idea of having Rinzler hanging around for months… if he survived that long, too.

Tom shook his head. "Just a small section of it, Flynn," he said, insistent. "Maybe?"

Sam was tempted to take the elevator upstairs and punch the first wall he came across. "…Jesus. Fine," he snapped. He wasn't angry at Tom or even Rinzler right now. He just couldn't take much more stress than this. He gave his companions a weary look. "What are we going to do next then? I mean—I _cannot_ keep him in ENCOM's basement," he said, looking at Rinzler pointedly, who had gone back to ignoring all of them again. "I know this place isn't really used, but what if someone notices the rabid black-clad man running around down here? What if he escapes?"

"So, put him somewhere _else_?" Amy suggested.

"Where?" Sam demanded, agitated.

All of them hesitated. "…Don't you have, like, a mansion?" Tom asked, weakly.

Sam glared at him. "I have a two bedroom apartment on Wisteria Street," he said acidly. " _We_ have a two bedroom apartment," he amended, looking over at Quorra.

"He is not living where I sleep," Quorra said so severely and firmly than no one critiqued her animosity toward the other program.

Amy rubbed her eyes, which had dark rims around them just like everyone else present did. "What about Bradley?" she asked, impatient.

Sam sent her a scandalized look. "He has grandkids who live next door!" Oh, God, Alan probably would have said yes right away, only to realize he was bringing a deranged computer program near his family. Then they'd really have a problem.

The female programmer seethed. "Oh, for Pete's sake! This isn't—okay. Fine." Amy pressed two fingers to each side of her head. "D-don't you know anyone else? _Anyone_ you could trust with him?"

A stray idea hit Sam. It was a bad idea. Probably the worst they had. But it was also his only other option.

 _This is not going to end well._

"…Well…" he began, swallowing hard because his throat had gone dry. All of them except Rinzler were looking expectantly at him. "…He likes you two."

The silence that fell over them all was not encouraging.

"What? !" Amy shrieked, causing Rinzler to jump up in his seat. " _US_? !" Quorra was gaping at Sam, as if he had been the one to mistake the order of the ingredients of a bowl of cereal for once, like she did almost every morning.

"Flynn, we live in a one bedroom apartment… a really, really small one," Tom began, looking pale and wary now. Rinzler was now looking intensely at the group, either curious or ready to use the drama as an excuse to attack someone, probably Sam.

"That's totally beside the point!" Amy shot at Tom, more stunned than angry. She turned to Sam, desperate. "Sam, look at us. We're not like… we couldn't _handle_ him."

Sam shook his head, which was hurting anew now. "Like we could? He's dangerous, yeah. But… he…" He fumbled mentally, so he decided to gesture at Tom and Amy as if it proved something. "He _likes_ you two. You're the only people other than Alan I haven't seen him attack or hate, inside the Grid included."

Tom's pained expression never faded. "But we're not…" he began, fearful. "That's not _fair_. What if he gets out of our apartment? And how are we getting him there? What if he kills one of us?"

"I can't afford to hire some kind of private protection detail for a Goddamn computer program. It's bad enough Alan knows about this now. We need… this needs to be kept quiet," Sam replied, forcing himself not to be sympathetic. They had to use what little help they had, even if it meant handing those two unfortunate programmers a whole new level of responsibility. "I trust you two. I probably shouldn't, considering you tried to steal from me last month, but Rinzler trusts you."

That was a stretch on all levels. Sam trusted Tom and Amy less than he trusted Alan, but he couldn't deny the fact he had to trust them in the end. They were deeply imbedded in this whole drama now and the fact that Rinzler feared them less than he feared everyone else was a huge bonus. From the looks he often gave either programmer, Sam knew Rinzler at least liked them. He viewed them as his benefactors, if he had to guess.

"…We…" Tom started, failing to get over the words. "We could…" He glanced over at Amy.

Amy sent her boyfriend a pained look. "Tom…"

"Amy, look at this," Tom tried to say. He looked over at Rinzler, a mixture of fear and sympathy on his face. "He trusts us. He would probably try to kill Flynn or Quorra. Or set another room on fire."

"What about Alan? He likes Alan too!" Amy insisted, desperate.

"Alan has family to worry about. We live _alone_ ," Tom reminded her. "Rinzler doesn't have anyone."

"…We're not…" Amy began, eyes shining. She sputtered, "We're not prepared to handle him. He's like—like a mentally impaired child—with Chuck Norris powers!"

Tom arched an eyebrow. "Who _likes_ us," he added, unhelpfully. Amy scowled at him.

"Or is just less inclined to go homicidal on our asses when there are more irritating people in the room," she snapped. "What if he loses it and we're alone?"

"It's called mace," Tom replied simply. Sam almost wanted to laugh, but Amy probably would have killed him for it.

Amy's eye twitched terribly. "He set his hands on _fire_ ," she began heatedly. "I _really_ don't think mace is going to bother him terribly."

"Amy, work with me here!" Tom exclaimed, exasperated.

The woman snarled and turned away from him in frustration. "I don't believe this…!"

The lab fell quiet again, the silence thick and intense. Quorra gave Sam a reluctant look; she didn't like any of this, but her silence was helpful in the fact she seemed to respect Sam's idea. Amy seethed silently, looking away from all of them. Tom looked over at Rinzler, who ignored everyone.

Sam wished there was a better way to handle it, but he was out of ideas. Amy seemed to understand that too, because after a minute of silent deliberation, she turned around again.

"Fine. Fine," Amy began, glaring dangerously at the CEO. "If he murders me or Tom, I swear to _God,_ Flynn, this is your fault. I want this in writing."

"I'm sorry you two are involved in this. I am," Sam said, meaning it. "I… wish I wasn't either. But we can't walk away now."

Neither programmer looked pleased by this, but it was almost like they all mutually accepted their fates. "I know," Tom said. He glanced at his girlfriend, who just stared at the ground. "We know."

Sam wanted to just… forget about this entire thing. But Quorra wasn't going to go away. The ISO case wasn't and the Grid wouldn't either. Rinzler was going to be sitting at that table no matter how many times Sam tried to blink him away.

They didn't have any other choice.

After more quiet, subdued discussion, no other option seemed available. Tom and Amy gathered their courage and walked over to Rinzler, who was still intently spinning the top over and over again.

"Hey, Rinzler?" Amy began cautiously.

With a slight pause, Rinzler actually turned and looked up at her. "Yes?" he asked. His voice was just as hoarse as before.

That was a definite improvement, though, that he responded. Amy and Tom both smiled at the program, their expressions strained.

"How would you feel about moving in with us for a bit?"

Rinzler arched an eyebrow, the first real expression he had ever worn. They would place that on the Improvement board as well.

Perhaps they could just see this as another step forward. Sam prayed that it would be.

 

* * *

 **End** _**Chapter Fifteen** _ **.**

* * *

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

Their apartment was quiet when they finally got back. Three hours worth of planning, preparation and drilling from Sam Flynn over just what their obligations were… and they were home.

With an unexpected house-guest in tow.

Amy stood by quietly after Tom shut the door behind them. They let Rinzler go in first, who moved stiffly across the carpet, eyes roving everywhere. He seemed to have gotten his sight coordination back in order first, because all he did was stare things down, evaluating them as threats or otherwise. She wanted to tell him it was okay to relax, because the apartment was safe, but she doubted any words would comfort him. They would have to let him explore at his own pace and he did just that.

There were so many things about this world that apparently Kevin Flynn had never translated back into the Grid. Texture seemed to boggle Rinzler the most (something that Sam confirmed Quorra had problems with as well), so as he walked through the apartment into the living room, he trailed his hand over the wall, then the couch and then coffee table. He kept eyeing all the electronics, like the TV, recognizing some things hopefully.

He wasn't sane. Amy knew Tom knew, so she didn't point it out to him. Rinzler probably wouldn't take kindly to the accusation that he wasn't mentally whole, though it really wasn't rocket science to figure out the clues.

Evidence One: he kept twitching. Amy had never seen a twitchier person, ever, and one time she had to babysit an epileptic kid as a teenager. Rinzler would flinch up at every sudden movement or noise and seemed incredibly wary of everything. His eyes kept darting around, looking for dangers in the taxi cab, giving the poor Russian driver the look a caged wolf might wear.

Evidence Two: he was either bi-polar or was suffering from multiple personality disorder. Both were entirely possible. Amy didn't know much of psychology, but yet again, it was clear something was up. Tom once called him by Rinzler and Tron sent him such a startled look, both programmers knew that it was Tron, and not Rinzler, who was there.

But then the look of confusion would fade, and Rinzler would respond, as if he had just stepped out of the room for a second. It was unnerving and incredibly unsettling trying to talk to him. Amy never knew who she was talking to half the time, when he was focused enough to respond at all. He was getting better at talking, but unfortunately, both "Tron" and "Rinzler" sounded the same, the former perhaps a little friendlier.

"Well, this is home," Tom began, smiling awkwardly as Rinzler stopped staring at the television's black screen curiously. The program glanced at the human before looking over at the couch, moving closer around it. He moved almost cat-like.

Amy placed her messenger bag down on the table watching him. She had to get supplies at some point. Clothing, extra food (hell, probably baby food at this rate with his eating habits), an inflatable mattress, because there was no way they were giving up their bed for this. They'd be lucky if the landlord didn't find out about "unaccounted for apartment occupants." They didn't have any sort of time frame for how long Rinzler would be staying with them, so both Tom and Amy were feeling the pressure of _What do we do now?_ as they watched Rinzler sweep over the living room, his potential new home.

And then he found Ruggers.

Ruggers was an older cat that Tom had inherited from his elder brother. Both Amy and Tom loved the black and white cat, who always had a dignified expression and stayed out of trouble. The cat liked people, too. They had never had a problem with Ruggers not getting along with a guest.

When Rinzler walked around the couch and saw Ruggers standing there, however, Amy wasn't sure exactly what was going to happen.

First, the program froze. Amy swallowed nervously as she saw the pale man freeze up like he had just narrowly gotten hit by lightening or something equally as life-threatening. Rinzler didn't look scared, however, just… stunned. He stared down at the multi-colored feline, which wasn't even looking back at him. Instead, Ruggers seemed intent to lick it's leg twice and then look over at Tom with dull eyes, as if saying, "Oh, you're back." It completely ignored the newcomer, even though said-guest was ogling the cat as if it was about to explode or do something amazing.

Obviously, Rinzler had never seen another animal before. Psychologically speaking, this was probably the coolest reaction ever to document, Amy realized, but she wasn't really in the mood to test anything.

Glancing over at her, Tom cleared his throat. "His name is Ruggers," he began, cautious. Rinzler flinched as the human came up by his shoulder. "He's a cat. They're pets."

Rinzler continued to stare with that wide-eyed look. Amy resisted the urge to sigh.

"You guys probably never had pets, huh?" she asked. She walked over and picked Ruggers up, who mewled in protest. She held the chubby cat up for Rinzler to get a better look. The program's eyes followed her movements with almost hilarious intensity. "He's a different animal than us that we domesticated. He's really nice. Can't talk or do much other than eat, sleep and cuddle, but he's a nice cat."

Rinzler probably had no idea what an animal was compared to a "cat" or "human" but hopefully he could pick it up relatively easily. Amy wasn't really good at explaining things over and over again and Tom might make it too complicated for Rinzler to understand.

Thankfully, the program seemed intent on just staring at the cat, probably trying to wrap his mind around a fuzzy, non-User, _living_ creature that looked nothing like himself. Ruggers meowed again, surprising Rinzler, so Amy deposited Ruggers onto the couch's arm, closer to where Rinzler was standing. The program continued to stare down at the feline, even as Ruggers sat there, a little miffed, but he remained seated in his hunkered down pose.

Amy saw Tom watching from the wall closest to the kitchen, so she moved over there to observe the interaction between the two non-Users present. Rinzler just stared silently at the cat, who finally acknowledged Rinzler's existence, but just sat there. From the looks of it, they could probably stand there forever in their stare-down.

"He looks like he found the Holy Grail," Amy said, trying not to giggle and failing, as Rinzler tilted his head slightly as he peered closer at the cat.

Tom sent her a patient look. "He's right here," he reminded her. "We have to stop talking like he's—like Rinzler's not listening."

That was difficult to do, especially considering that Rinzler seemed very simple-minded most times, but Amy could see the program was slowly becoming more aware of his surroundings. Right now, Rinzler was focused on the cat, but Amy had a feeling he was learning to focus his senses on different things at the same time. The awed look faded from his face and he gently touched Ruggers' head wearing a neutral expression. The texture of the fur caused Rinzler's mouth to open slightly and eyes widen in astonishment.

Amy put that up on the Improvement Board as well.

Exhaling quietly, Amy turned back to the table, where her list of supplies sat. She needed to get everything done, mostly for her own benefit. They had to get used to this, make a schedule out of it or something. She still wasn't even sure how they were going to manage working on their assigned jobs with Flynn while babysitting Rinzler. She hoped Flynn wasn't expecting them to transfer him back and forth—

"Oh, shi—Rinzler!" Tom suddenly shouted, causing Amy to jump several inches into the air. "No, _bad_ Ruggers! Bad!"

Spinning around, she saw Tom over with Rinzler, who had apparently fallen a few feet backwards, clutching his hands to his chest with a pained and startled look on his face. Ruggers was no longer on the couch, but in the hallway, hissing angrily before he darted away into the bedroom. Amy was flabbergasted—she had only looked away for twenty seconds!

"What happened? !" she asked, moving over to where the two men were. Rinzler didn't look happy in the slightest.

Tom grimaced as he reached out and grabbed Rinzler's hands, tugging them loose from the apparent death-hold Rinzler had them against his chest with. "Ruggers scratched him. Hold still, Rinzler, let me see your hand," Tom said. He peered at Rinzler's hand and when Amy stepped up, she could see two faint red lines on his hand. The red was startlingly bright against his pale skin. "Ah, it's nothing serious."

One eye twitching and breathing now more pronounced, Rinzler withdrew his hand. "What…?" he began, voice harsh. It was the first time he had spoken in the last hour. Amy winced at the pain and utter confusion in his voice.

"Cats have claws," she explained, sympathetic. "When they get panicked, they can scratch. Don't worry. You probably just crowded him too fast. He's usually really sweet. You'll get the hang of it."

Shaking and trying to pull away from the pain itself, Rinzler was agitated. "It hurts," he stated. Normally, when he spoke, it'd be very gruff and direct. This time he spoke through clenched teeth.

"I know, sweetie," Amy found herself saying, though she tried not to fuss too much. If she made a big deal out of it, he would too. She tugged on his arm to take him into the bathroom to wash the faint scratches. "It's not deadly or really dangerous, but let's clean the cut first. You don't want an infection." _More than you already have…_

Rinzler's eyes narrowed even more, as he let her drag him to the sink and wash his exposed hand. He flinched horribly when the water turned on and he almost pulled away completely as the liquid hit his exposed skin. He _hated_ rapid sensory changes, Tom had noted earlier, or at least ones he didn't have time to prepare for.

"There, all better," Amy murmured, after rinsing the soap off and drying the unresisting hand with a towel. When she let go of his hand, Rinzler slowly brought his hand up to inspect with his own eyes. He seemed unsettled by the faint red lines.

Tom noticed and got Rinzler's attention. "Hey, it does heal by itself," he said, speaking carefully. "Uh, Sam told me that injuries have to be manually fixed on the Grid. It's not like that here. It'll heal up, slowly, on its own. Most of typical human injuries can heal up on their own. Just don't try breaking bones and you'll be good."

Rinzler didn't look convinced, but the panic in his eyes faded eventually. He kept staring at his hand, waiting for the scratches to miraculously vanish. Amy sighed.

Somehow, they managed to get him seated quietly in the living room, with a few pillows and blankets for him to experimentally touch. He could go a whole hour just running his hands over fabrics, so Amy felt safe enough to go into the kitchen to get something made for dinner. Tom stood at the entrance to the kitchen, shifting between helping her retrieve items for the hearty grilled cheese sandwich meal that awaited them and keeping an eye on their guest in the living room.

Amy had just got the first slices of bread down on the pan when she heard Tom sigh.

"Amy," he began, sounding weary, "I've gotta ask. Why the change in heart?"

That… was a strange question. Amy turned her head, confused. "What?" she asked.

Something troubling lingered in Tom's eyes and it made Amy's stomach squirm. "You were all but ready to tear Sam a new one for being mean to Rinzler and now you're all defensive about him coming into our home," Tom explained, getting to the point far quicker and harsher than Amy was prepared for. He stood there waiting, ignoring her wince.

What the hell was she supposed to say? "That's exactly it. Our home. Rinzler—he needs a protector, but who's going to protect _us_ from him?" she countered, keeping her voice lower. She didn't want to start shouting over anything, otherwise that could send Rinzler into a tizzy. He didn't like loud noises. "I-I just get nervous around him."

His eyes, always shifting between the reasonable Tron and the wild Rinzler… they made her nervous. She could always read a person by their eyes. She couldn't read him, though.

"We have to have faith in him," Tom said, shaking his head with a frown. "Otherwise we may as well turn him out on the street, and I _know_ you don't want that."

Amy grit her teeth and viciously flipped one of the sandwiches. "I know. I know." She gripped the edge of the stove, bracing herself against the weight of, well, everything. " _Jesus_. This is all Flynn's fault."

The words left her mouth before she had the sense to censor herself, so she was fully expecting Tom's reaction. He exhaled, exasperated.

"Amy…" he said, as if he was trying not to let her know how frustrated he was, even though she already knew. "No, it's _not_. You know it."

Her head hurt; really bad. "I know. Fuck." Amy closed her eyes, trying to keep her own temper in check. "I just…"

Tom kept going, as always, because he knew how to get to bottom of issues Amy couldn't bring up herself. It was both useful and dreadfully annoying. "Why are you so angry with him? You heard his story and Quorra's," he countered. "Hell, we're _all_ victims, maybe Rinzler more than others, but still. Sam didn't decide to pull this on us on purpose."

"I know, that, Tom. I do. I'm just angry," Amy said. She scowled at Tom's glare and added, "Not at _Flynn_. Just the situation. I can't help but feel like I should stick up for Rinzler, including getting angry with the dude who wanted to kill him, at least at one point."

"That was life or death," Tom interrupted, frowning.

"I know!" Amy exclaimed. She quickly removed the two sandwiches from the skillet before they started to burn and she turned around to fix Tom with a glare of her own. She gestured out at the living room, where Rinzler was still seated. "I have an underdog syndrome, so sue me. I look at that guy in there and I see someone who just lost his home, his purpose for existing and has two personalities raging inside his head trying to come out on top. He's terrifying, but he's also alone. Completely _alone_."

Inhaling, Amy felt her shoulder sag, her own words catching up to her with painful clarity. "If that's not something to feel sympathy toward, I don't know what is," she said, voice almost a whisper.

Tom just stared at her and the only sound left in the apartment was the skillet sizzling for attention. Rinzler was always quiet, like a shadow. Or a ghost.

Suddenly, everything felt far, far too dark and claustrophobic. What were they _doing_?

"I feel bad for him too, Amy. We all do. I think Sam does especially, considering his father's connection to this," Tom said quietly, eyes soft. He reached out and gripped her shoulder, trying to be comforting. "We'll take this one step at a time. He's only dangerous when threatened. So let's keep all threatening things away from him and try to give him the stable environment he needs."

A basic plan for a complicated case. Amy nodded and exhaled shakily. They needed to keep their cool, foremost.

"I was not expecting to become a mother when you signed on for this job," she said, forcing a laugh. She smirked at her boyfriend, nudging his arm playfully. "Heh, I should be blaming you for all of this."

Tom grimaced dramatically. "Oh, God, please don't. I have enough trouble sleeping," he said. With a heavy sigh, he moved toward the kitchen exit, seemingly bracing himself. "Alright then—hey, Rinzler! What kind of soup do you like?"

Amy watched him herd Rinzler into both conversation and the dining room and held back a sigh.

They could do this. They just needed patience. She could do that.

 **0000**

The humans were kind. Maybe stupid, but kind. Rinzler wasn't sure if he should begrudge them for that. He did not like stupidity, but compared to Flynn's offspring, he preferred these two.

They gave him food (even if he didn't like it), shelter (it was too small) and clothing (why, by the Grid, did he need it again?). Amy was nervous of him and he liked that most. Tom was also nervous, but he seemed more inclined to play nice. Rinzler could do without the niceness. It wasn't natural.

Time was a strange thing in the Users' world. There was _night_ and _day_. He had no idea why that was seen as a useful function, until, that is, he encountered sleep. He hated it. It felt like someone came up without warning and put him into standby. He thought it was a malfunction, until he realized the other Users slept as well. They called it necessary. It seemed to Rinzler that what was necessary in the "real world" were all ridiculous and ultimately useless. He couldn't fight it though. He no longer had any control over the rules that commanded his existence now.

They had settled for the night. They had given him the couch, as Tom called it, to sleep on while the couple retreated to the other room. Rinzler couldn't complain. They deserved space away from him (and he enjoyed the momentary freedom of solitude) and the couch was infinitely better than the cot back at Flynn's building. It was small for his form and Amy had apologetically told him tomorrow they'd get him a real bed. He assumed a bed was for sleeping on, so he nodded.

In addition to being too short for his body, the creature they called Ruggers would not move from the one corner of the couch. Rinzler thought of kicking it off, but he remembered the claws on its legs and decided to avoid touching it all together. He did _not_ like Ruggers.

Rinzler curled on his side and just breathed for a while. He smelled things. Smelling was new too. Often times it was a weak sense. Other times it was overpowering. He smelt something when he breathed into the couch. It wasn't very strong, but it was still there. He didn't have the data to identify it, either.

The darkness was punctuated by various things around the room. Amy had left a small light on in the kitchen for some reason; judging by the look she sent him before going to sleep herself, Rinzler assumed she left it on for him for some reason. Several smaller lights, green and red, glowed form various corners of the living room. They were from machines, he rationalized. It was odd, being somewhere so dark though. Compared to the Grid, the dwelling was as dark as the Sea itself.

Compared to the Grid, everything here was _wrong_.

Taking in a deep breath of air, Rinzler didn't know why his heart was racing. He didn't even know why he had a heart now, but it was there, and it was thumping loudly against his chest. His wished it would stop, but he had no control over his body functions anymore.

Everything… was out of his control.

The momentary urge to run out the door they had entered overwhelmed Rinzler's body. He wanted to run. He needed to run.

When the idea of _Where_ entered his mind, however, he stopped wanting to run. He had no where to run to. He had no where to go, other than here, with the humans.

Turning his head, Rinzler stared at the back of the room, at the hallway that led to the bathroom and the other room where the Users were sleeping. They had stopped making noises and their light was extinguished. They were together and seemed content to lie there with him only a short distance away. They trusted him, or just didn't fear him.

Another urge rose up in him and he tried to fight it.

Running to them wouldn't help either. It was foolish.

Rinzler rolled over onto his back, ignored the slight growl from the cat at the foot of the couch, and stared up at the ceiling. Even in the dark, the closed walls drew in closer. Suffocating.

After what seemed like an eternity, he shut his eyes and slept.

 **0000**

The items on his list of priorities was constantly changing order, but thankfully remained constant in quanity. There was the matter of what to do with Rinzler. Then there was the virus, which was connected to Rinzler's apparent illness. Then there was the Grid and its failing structure within. However, once they all sat down and really thought about it with less-panic-filled minds, they identified the most serious part of their agenda.

They had to figure out just how the hackers got in, first and foremost. The security leak was more than just a matter of protecting the Grid. It was a matter of protecting the world.

Sam did not want to imagine the consequences of allowing the virus escaping into the interconnected digital world, because, well, that would cause a technological apocalypse. People could literally die, when he thought about the scenario where entire computer infrastructures would go down. Perhaps machines would malfunction. Oh, God, the _military's_ tech would be in danger too. They had to treat this in the same desperate, tentative light that a scientist would treat the threat of a biological virus getting out into the open.

If they found out how the hackers got in, they could figure out how to seal it off from within the Grid. It seemed simple enough. It would have to be simple, Sam thought as he sat down at the lab table with three other people and a computer screen, because he really, _really_ could not have taken on much more stress than what he was already dealing with.

"Alright, we have a lot to discuss," Sam began, looking around at Alan and Quorra, who nodded.

Amy Talbot was seated next to a laptop that was facing them, the face of Tom Devlin staring out of the screen. He was back at their apartment via one of ENCOM's telecommunication's software, because as much as he needed to be in on this too, someone had to babysit the program sleeping somewhere beyond him in their living room. Sam did not even want to imagine how crazy their situation was at the moment, but he was glad Rinzler was (temporarily) not his main concern.

"How's Tron?" Alan asked immediately. Sam knew the older man still felt guilty and was almost paternal when it came to Rinzler's situation. If weren't for the fact he had children in his house, Sam knew Alan would have taken Rinzler home himself.

"Everything's clear for our patient as of now," Tom replied, voice only slightly distorted. He grinned, looking just as exhausted as the rest of them did. "No medical changes that I've noticed."

"Perhaps the virus doesn't have an affect on programs in the real world after all," Quorra mused. She, on the other hand, did not share any kind feelings toward Rinzler, but she was being remarkably civil now.

Sam hummed thoughtfully. "Or it's just leveled out," he added. "Maybe it's chronic."

"He still shakes and has trouble keeping warm," Amy replied.

"Pale as death, too," Tom added, sighing heavily. His girlfriend nodded in agreement, her multi-colored hair shaking from the gesture.

Alan frowned, looking more than enough concerned to cover for Quorra's unimpressed face and Sam's own (albeit guilty) unconcern. They had priorities, he kept telling himself. _Priorities_.

"Right. I know Rinzler's condition is a matter of concern, but as long as he's not bleeding to death, we have a much, much larger problem," Sam said. He gave Amy's glare a lukewarm stare, cutting her off before she could complain. "I know, I'm a jerk, but please, bear with me."

He expected a fight from one of them, maybe even Alan, but surprisingly, no one really complained. Amy sighed heavily, but closed her dark-rimmed eyes and nodded. "…I get it," she said, running a hand over her face. "What's the situation, boss?"

Sam wasn't going to comment that Amy wasn't employed at ENCOM, but really, they didn't need a contract to establish the fact that all of them were essentially employed by Kevin Flynn's private project anyway. Perhaps the nickname was fitting.

"The Grid," he began, fixing both Amy and Tom with a serious look, as if they didn't know the severity of the situation. He was certain they did. "I need to know exactly how you guys got in."

"We went over that before…" Tom began, exasperated.

"I know," Sam interrupted, frowning. "But that doesn't explain _how_. We need to figure that out."

Bending over in his chair, Sam pulled up a manila folder filled with several print outs. He had already shown them to Alan, so he shoved them toward Amy to look at.

"I got all the bandwidth and tech reports from every system under ENCOM's control right here that correspond to when you guys snagged Rinzler," he said simply as she looked over the papers, Tom trying to see them from the laptop screen. "I've looked them over briefly, but I haven't found a damn thing."

"This is nuts," Tom murmured.

Alan hummed thoughtfully. "The key would be to find the catalyst for entry, I would imagine," he said, catching their attentions. He gestured at the print outs vaguely. "Obviously we can't determine how they got in because we don't know all the facts about what we're dealing with, system-wise."

Sam blinked. "Huh?"

"What I mean," Alan began, chuckling, "is we know that the Grid isn't Internet capable and was not connected to the main ENCOM systems by default. But somehow, that night, it connected. I doubt ENCOM has any Grid-related software, so the only unfamiliar territory we're dealing with is inside the Grid. We need to look there to find what caused the connection to be even feasible."

Blaming it on his father made sense. Sam groaned and rubbed his eyes tiredly. It always came back to the Grid, he thought darkly. The one place most of them didn't know anything about.

"Makes sense, 'cause we certainly didn't use any fancy hacking programs," Amy admitted, frowning. "I mean, we were aiming for the backups on ENCOM's systems. We got in through an IRC port for your employees."

"So it was by the Internet alone," Alan murmured thoughtfully.

Tom nodded. "Yeah. We weren't anywhere near the building. I wasn't even sure it was going to work."

None of it made sense. If the Grid was what caused the connection between ENCOM's systems and its own, that meant it had access to the Internet. But it _didn't_. He had checked it himself several times, even with the damaged infrastructure. Quorra confirmed that they had never had any access to other networks. It was just an isolated world in there.

And yet, somehow, a bridge had opened miraculously between two unconnected systems, which then in turn opened to the wide-open Internet. It had been a one-way street, thankfully, where the hackers plucked what they wanted out of the Grid, but still. It made _no sense_.

They had asked Rinzler a few times about his opinion (well, Amy and tom had; Rinzler was not on speaking terms with Sam most often), but he just rambled nonsense or only a few unimportant words. In fact the only words he really mentioned in relation to the Grid were "connection" and "Sea"—

Sam stared out between Amy and Quorra's shoulders, his mind suddenly stumbling and falling flat on its face. No one noticed his momentary shock, as they were all caught up with their own thoughts most likely. So many theories and ideas… Sam wasn't even sure where his had come from. It didn't make sense… and yet…

It made perfect sense.

"…What if…" he began, breathless. The others looked up, but he stopped himself.

 _No_ , that was crazy.

"What?" Quorra asked, concerned.

Sam licked his lips, trying to shake the haze of shock and building hope from his mind. "The Sea… the whole concept is that it's uncharted data, right?" he began, looking at her with wide eyes. "Data that… didn't play by the rules."

Quorra nodded slowly. Beside her, Alan frowned. "What makes you say that?" he asked, brow furrowing. He wasn't as up-to-date on the terms as the others were.

"It's where the ISOs came from. Unaltered, completely uncontrolled data. They… were created from… chaos," Sam explained, shaking his head. He sat back in his chair. "Evolution on a technological level."

"Yes," Quorra said. She smiled faintly. "Flynn explained everything that way."

Sam took a deep breath and then asked the fatal question, "What if that wasn't the only thing it could do?"

There was a pause. "What?" Tom asked, surprised. His confusion was echoed in the expressions of the others. Sam could only smile, though.

"It's chaos. Pure… chaos," he explained, gesturing vaguely with his hand. He couldn't stop smiling, reveling in what he had just deciphered from his father's legacy. "Chance. Everything about it is just… _chance_. Like the stars forming, or our own creation."

"I'm not following," Alan said, brow narrowed, confusion ringing in his voice. In fact, only Amy seemed to seem unconcerned by Sam's logic. She stared at him coolly, waiting for more information.

Sam's smile grew into a wary grin. "What if the Sea made it's own connections?" he asked.

The following pause was significantly shorter. "…To… the Internet?" Tom asked, hesitant.

"Why not?" Sam asked, placing his hands on the table. He laughed shortly, "It's possible. And if it was possible, then the Sea could find a way to do it. Because… it's all chance anyway."

All of it. That was what had enamored his father to the notion of the ISOs and the Sea of Simulation. It was unprecedented. Unexpected.

An act of God—or His undoing.

"That's stretching it a bit, don't you think?" Alan asked, hesistant. He didn't seem like he wanted to disagree, but he was struggling with this turn of information.

Sam stood up and gestured at himself. " _Look_ at us, Alan. Look at the human race. Earth. The cosmos. I'm no astronaut, but what were the chances, out of all the other chances, that space dust would churn out the human race, just the way we are now?" He smiled, feeling the sort of chilling revelation his father must have experienced. "Chance. All… chance."

Quorra looked stunned. "That's…"

Amy's eyes shone strangely. "Amazing," she said quietly.

"Rinzler fell into the Sea, after reverting back to Tron," Tom suddenly interjected. "What if… he triggered something?" A smile appeared on his face as well, the scientist in him rising to the occasion just like Sam. "Another step in the equation. In the Grid's evolution?"

"Then why isn't it open now?" Alan asked, alarmed.

"Maybe it needed a trigger," Sam offered, wracking his brain for an answer.

"Desperation," Amy muttered, causing the others to look at her. She looked away with a grim expression and didn't say anything else.

Sam got what she was saying, but didn't comment on it. Rinzler—Tron—got screwed over, but they all had, in the end. At least Rinzler was still alive. The Grid had gotten him out. Well, the Sea had at least.

But it did raise an interesting theory. If Rinzler's desperation for rescue coupled with the hackers' attempt to break into ENCOM somehow triggered the Sea to create its own Internet connection, that could explain how they were connected.

Except for the fact that ENCOM was not connected to the Grid to start with. Sam grit his teeth and tried to think. There had to be something else. Why? If the Sea was _how_ Rinzler got picked up by the hackers, _why_ did the Sea seek out ENCOM's servers first? The Internet was gigantic! The two servers weren't even physically nearby. Why would—

Unless it knew. Flynn had built the Grid, after all, depositing what he was into it via CLU 2. If he told CLU or put his own data into the structure of the Grid, surely it must have known its origins. It would have known about ENCOM.

…Or…

Tron.

He wasn't from the Grid, was he? Sam sat back down slowly, mind reeling. He had been looking for rescue. For that moment in time, Tron had returned to fight CLU. When he hit the water, perhaps… perhaps he told it where to look.

He told it to take him _home_.

Leaning on his hands, Sam kept that thought to himself. He'd write up a better sounding explanation later. They could deal with the magnitude of the Sea's power later. For now, they had to figure out how to stop it.

"…Great," he muttered. He dropped his face into his hands. "Just perfect."

"What?" Quorra asked again, sounding alarmed.

Sighing heavily, Sam looked up at her and the others. "Well, obviously we can't seal the Grid off at this rate. If the Sea can connect by itself to the Internet, well, that's not something we're able to figure out to stop," he said, grim. "Damn it."

Tom mirrored that look. "We're going to have to target the virus then," he said quietly.

"But it's unfixable, right?" Amy asked, confused.

"No," Quorra said, shaking her head. She pursed her lips. "Flynn just never had the opportunity to fix it. We aren't sure of anything about it, to be honest."

"…So we have to fix the virus," Alan concluded, nodding once. "That would solve the issue of a break-in, plus the threat of the virus getting out."

"But how are we going to fix the virus if the Grid is literally falling apart?" Amy asked, concerned. "The virus is the reason it's falling apart. Trying to tackle both at the same time would be impossible, I think."

Sam gripped his head, frustrated. "Shit."

They had to handle this before it got out of control. The virus was their main threat now. They had to contain it and in order to contain it, they had to get to the source of where it was being housed: the Grid.

If there was a correct order to fix things, Sam wasn't sure what it was. But he could try. He had to.

"…We fix the Grid," he said, voice pleasantly firmer than he was expecting to sound. He met all of their eyes with a steady gaze. "And handle the virus."

Quorra hesitated, almost confused. "But… at the same time?" she asked.

"We don't have a choice," Sam replied, shaking his head. He looked at Amy and Tom, frowning. "What are your degree specialties?"

"I can work on the virus," Amy said, far quicker than Sam had expected. She gave him a shaky grin. "I have anti-virus programming experience."

"And you know I'm good for security programming," Tom added, nodding resolutely through the screen. "I can help with the Grid reformatting."

Sam thought it over before nodding back. "…Good," he said. "That's good."

Without any prompt, Quorra leaned forward, her eyes bright. "We can do this, Sam," she said, confidence ringing in her voice. "I have faith in you."

Of course she did. She never stopped having faith in him, Sam realized. She trusted him with everything. He didn't know if he deserved that trust, but…

"Thanks, Quorra," he replied quietly. He smiled, his heart swelling when she smiled back with a dazzling smile of her own. She really was something else.

"I'll do what I can as well, Sam," Alan announced. He smiled and gripped Sam's shoulder, shaking him in a gesture of support. "We're behind you."

That alone was more than enough to keep him going. He wasn't alone. They might fail and screw things up even more than they already were—but at least he wasn't alone in this.

Sam smiled, strained but confidently, at his friends and nodded. "Let's get to work, then, shall we?"

 

* * *

 

 _ **End Chapter Sixteen**._

* * *

 

 **A/Ns** :  
-I apologize if Amy and Tom are becoming annoying to some of you guys. D: I'm not going to lie, I wasn't expecting this story to have gotten this long with so much support, so I didn't put much effort into the OCs until I realized I had something going here. They are necessary for the plot and, well, this was a self-indulgent fic from the start. XD You'll see what I mean later. But yes, I will endeavor to make them more likable! They play important roles later and I don't think any canon character could have really handled the whole Rinzler baby-sitting thing without a major hitch.  
-Also, lmfao you guys have given up on guessing the surprise pairing, haven't you? XD No worries. It's being revealed in a few chapters.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. I'M ALIVE. I apologize for the disappearing act! I have finally finished up the massive fan fiction project I had undertaken over the last two years, so now I will return to updating this story (and my other minor projects) until completion, even if there are gaps between updates. :) Thank you so much for your patience. On with the story!
> 
> Quorra has some issues and then Rinzler has some even bigger ones.
> 
> Warnings: descriptive violence, mild language, alternative coupling, original characters, dark themes, SPOILERS for Tron: Legacy.  
> Disclaimer: Tron © Disney. I only write this mess.

It was after eleven by the time he got home. Sam had taken his bike in and enjoyed the sharp wind that hit him on the ride back. It was almost enough to shake the deepening sense of exhaustion that was constantly tugging at his brain lately. He was working longer hours than even he was used to; he'd survive it, though. He had endured a lot worse.

By the time he reached his apartment, however, Sam wanted nothing more than a hot shower and the comfort of his bed. Quorra usually went to sleep around ten, so Sam tried to be quiet when he opened the door and tiptoed inside.

He was surprised to see Quorra sitting on the couch—her feet tucked under her legs and looking poised in one of his father's meditation poses—alone. She had a pile of magazines beside her, but it was unclear if she had already read them or had merely brought them over to attempt to read and hadn't gotten that far yet.

"Hey!" Sam said, smiling when Quorra turned toward him at the sound of the door opening. He shrugged his jacket off and put it on the hook by the door. "Sorry I'm late. Had to fix some of the dangling ends to the virus block prototype Amy and I were working on."

It was actually going places, which was a huge relief. Amy was actually pretty decent at the coding. The major problem they both had to tackle was the fact that the Virus seemed to be self-evolving. Sam theorized it was because the Virus had become part of the Sea, which had proven to go beyond the normal programming spectrum they were used to dealing with. To fix the Virus, they had to somehow outmaneuver that self-repairing sequencing.

"Just got a call from Alan before I left the lab, too," Sam said, dumping his backpack onto the dining room table. He had given up on the suit and tie get-up lately as he worked in ENCOM's basement. "He's still running more intricate scans on the ENCOM systems. Man, I really hate to imagine the Sea actually reaching out like Tom and Amy suggested, but it's our only lead."

"Hmm," Quorra hummed. She was oddly quiet.

Sam paused at the mouth of the kitchen and considered the absence of conversation.

Uh oh.

Turning slowly, Sam saw Quorra staring at him with a level look. There was no clear emotion there, but Sam could see how stiff she was holding herself.

"…I know that look," he said. He tried not to feel defensive, which he always ended up being when he was at a loss at the charges placed against him. "What'd I do wrong?"

Quorra finally blinked. "You did nothing wrong."

"Oh… that's good?" Sam said, heart beating a bit faster. Why was she staring at him like that? It was starting to weird him out.

"In fact, you've been doing nothing," Quorra said, colder. Well, there it was.

"Wait, what?" Sam asked, startled. He moved closer and tried to understand the accusation. "What do you mean? I was working all day on the Grid and the Virus situation."

"Yes, you have," Quorra said, still stiff and unbending. She met his gaze with blazing blue eyes. "And you have been neglecting other things."

Most quasi-boyfriends would take that as a hint that he had been working too much and not spending time with her personally. But somehow, Sam doubted that this was a normal-boyfriend-girlfriend fight conversation.

"…I need more of a hint than that," Sam said at length. He sat down carefully on the other end of the couch. He was actually beginning to feel nervous under Quorra's never-wavering glare. "Are you lonely? Do you want to help me at the office…?"

"This isn't about me!" Quorra suddenly shouted.

Sam froze. Quorra's silent sulking had finally bubbled over. He had never seen this in her before, not really, but whatever she was frustrated over was clearly important.

"Actually, no, perhaps it is," Quorra said, drawing in on herself more. She glared at him boldly, however, even as she shrank into the oversized t-shirt she was wearing. "More specifically, it's a part of me that you seem to have utterly disregarded!"

At first, he was absolutely confused over what she was talking about.

Then, it hit him like a ton of bricks to the face.

"The ISO case," he breathed. He sat back, eyes wide. "Shit, Quorra, I'm sorry."

They had been working on Quorra's condition, or rather the ISO case his father had died to protect, for weeks before running into this new Rinzler mess. They had dropped the ISO investigation without any real chance to place it aside neatly for a calmer day. Sam had just assumed it was all right to shift focus, since it wasn't like Quorra or the ISOs were going anywhere.

The look on Quorra's face told him that it was _not all right_ , in fact.

"I know you are busy trying to fix the mess that Rinzler and CLU left you, but Sam, I have nothing but being an ISO," she said, voice heated. "Your father died trying to get me out of the Grid for you to continue to work on his dream—what I am—and you haven't even thought about it at all, have you?"

He had thought about it in passing, but he couldn't deny that it had taken a back seat in light of other catastrophic events. Sam tried to stop a wall of irritation rising in the back of his mind, since he knew it wasn't Quorra's fault, any of it. "Quorra, you know we have to make tough choices about this. Yeah, I know, it's not fair to ignore you or the ISO situation—," he started to say.

" _Situation_!" she snorted, turning her head away.

"—but come on, Q, this is a matter of life or death practically!" he exclaimed. He leaned forward to get her to look at him again. "The Grid is falling apart, that Virus could spread out into the _world_ grid if the Sea suddenly decides to flare up and out again, and frankly, that's a bit more important than a lot of things right now." He glared. " _Including_ my father's dreams."

Quorra opened her mouth to speak, rearing back physically, but she stopped herself. She glared right back at him and could not yet hide the flash of hurt on her pale face. Shoulders hunching, Quorra shut down and looked to the side, chest heaving silently.

Frustrated solely at himself, Sam pondered how he had screwed this aspect of his life that quickly. He floundered for a moment, trying to figure out how to fix this, but there was little he could offer her. He couldn't just drop the Virus case. Not now.

"I didn't mean to make you upset," he finally said. He ran a hand through his hair and looked out at the pitch-black skies over the dotted cityscape.

He just kept screwing up. He was too harsh towards Rinzler. He was too suspicious of Amy and Tom. He had hidden all this for too long from his only remaining father figure. He was too damn critical of himself more than half the time. He couldn't…

He couldn't be as good as his dad. Not like this. No matter how much it felt like he was trying.

"I have _one_ purpose. I used to protect your father, or at least, learn what I could from him," Quorra said, her eyes shining with pain as she gazed out at nothing. "But now he's gone. All I have left is what I am physically. I don't understand this world. I understand the threats you're trying to fix…" She exhaled sharply, almost like a laugh. "But I don't know what to do with myself in the meantime. I have no worth besides what's inside me. I have no point besides mapping out what he couldn't!"

Sam found himself drowning a sense of confusion and a faint sense of horror. Quorra couldn't actually believe that—that she was just an ISO? Just a science experiment?

"No… no, Q, that's not…" he tried to say, but the words didn't come out quick enough.

He had no idea what to say, not to that. Quorra took his silence for something other than internal confusion and dismay; she looked away from him and seemed intent to curl away entirely. Sam couldn't let her think that what she said was true.

He practically lunged across the gap between them and grabbed her hands that had been locked around her knees. Quorra looked up at him surprised and Sam took a deep steadying breath.

"You're not useless," he said, gripping her hands tighter. Touch always helped translating his feels to her, he had learned. He shook his head. "You're more than an ISO. _So_ much more."

"What can I do, Sam, besides try to achieve what your father saw in me?" Quorra asked, eyes sad now. "How can I be the saving grace he spoke of if I do nothing but sit around the apartment? I can't help you fix this Virus. I can't do anything."

Sam drew her closer, making sure she was listening to him without any chance of misunderstanding him. "We're _going_ to come back to this, Quorra. You know that."

It didn't matter if it was next week or next year—Sam Flynn was going to achieve his father's last dream. More than that, he was going to help his closest friend achieve hers.

"I'm… impatient," Quorra said, eyes pinched. At least she admitted her faults, Sam thought to himself.

"No. You're impossibly patient," he said, chuckling. He squeezed her hands. "Welcome to being human, though. Out here, it's ridiculously unfair."

Quorra looked down at the carpet. "It is," she agreed.

It wasn't fair to her. In fact, Sam knew he only knew a faint idea about how unfair this was to Quorra. She had no where to go except with him. She had no power, no other friends, no trust in her own abilities to adapt to this new world alone. She had only ever had one destiny in mind, and that had been the ISO project. Other than that…and she was without purpose.

Sam closed his eyes briefly against the wave of exhaustion—both emotional and physical—as he realized just how badly he needed to fix this now. Quorra was more than a damn computer miracle. She was Quorra. She was… _important_.

And now he just had to make sure she knew that and held onto it, even as they struggled to balance their different responsibilities.

Opening his eyes, Sam saw Quorra watching him, waiting and desperate. He wondered if she knew he needed her just as much as she needed him.

"Come to work with me tomorrow. I could use the company," Sam said. He grasped her shoulder. "And when we eventually go back to the Grid, I'm definitely going to need your help."

Quorra's brow was still worried and she bit her lip.

"…That, I can do," she said, looking up to meet his eyes with the same heart wrenching honesty as ever.

Sam smiled. " _That's_ how to think about it."

**0000**

Coming home at six in the morning only to have a brief goodbye with a half-asleep boyfriend who then left for his own twelve hour shift at ENCOM left Amy in a bitter mood that six hours of sleep could not fix. She really should have been up earlier than noon, but she was so tired. She hadn't been able to grab the nap at work she should have taken. The noon wake-up call was her own decision, because no matter how tired she was, she still had responsibilities.

Like, _living_ responsibilities.

Rinzler had adapted to living with them to the point where he was all right to be alone a few hours. He usually slept late anyway, so he had spent (from what Amy had estimated) only three hours alone. She was grateful they had shown him how to watch television and she was even more grateful for the TV's decision to play cop shows all day. Rinzler would spend hours staring at car chases. _Hours_.

While he vegged out, Amy tried to get her act together. She stumbled through making them brunch (Rinzler had also luckily learned to use the fridge for meals when she wasn't there; Amy had learned to leave at least three cheese sandwiches for him when he wanted one).

"Want mac'n'cheese?" she called out into the living room.

Rinzler didn't even twitch. Amy sighed; at least he wasn't drooling.

She turned the volume down a little when she planted a bowl of noodles in front of the computer program. Rinzler did give the bowl his attention. They had learned he liked cheesy food, though that wasn't healthy in the long run. He did enjoy vegetables, but…

They needed to restock their supplies. Amy never liked grocery shopping when it was just her and Tom, but they had never had a reason to shop for long periods of time in mind. Now that they had Rinzler to keep fed, she figured it was about time she had a grown-up moment and start planning future meals.

However, she realized her dilemma as she finished her own lunch (Rinzler, after burning himself twice on food before, was paranoid about it being hot and took a long time to eat anything cooked)—she had no one to watch Rinzler while she shopped. Tom was at work and she was pretty sure Sam was comatose from sleep deprivation at this point too. Alan was still working himself the last time she saw him, and there was no way in hell Amy would allow that Amazonian program, Quorra, to watch Rinzler alone.

Amy peered at her houseguest nervously. If he noticed the scrutiny, he never showed it. He was very tolerant of their nervousness. He almost ignored them when they didn't speak to him directly.

She didn't know what to do right away. He was okay with being on his own in short bursts of time, but she didn't trust his inability to handle the most basic of human dilemmas yet to leave him alone while she was a train ride away. He was gradually learning, sure, but he was still very dependent on her and Tom.

She also didn't like how sickly he was, even as they approached the four-week mark since he had come to their world. He had never had an attack or anything, but it kept Amy up at night imagining what would happen if he ever did. What if he deteriorated, or got hurt, when they weren't home?

It made her feel dreadfully helpless and she was _not okay with that_.

She made her decision once she put away their dishes. Rinzler had started to go back to watching television (he preferred that to reading; his attention span was hilariously short), so he didn't pay her much heed when she walked up beside the couch.

"Come're, Shakey, we're going out," she said, heaving her messenger bag's strap around her shoulders. She saw Rinzler glaring at her abruptly; he really didn't like nicknames. "Don't give me that look. You've reached the nickname stage, that's a good thing."

"My designation is Rinzler," the program said, not quite in a snarl.

Amy sighed. "Ah. No Tron today?" she asked, almost to herself. Instantly she knew it had been the wrong thing to say, because Rinzler's eyes narrowed and his body twitched quite visibly. Amy held her hands up in defeat, because she knew he would be unresponsive if she asked him questions like that now. "Jesus, okay, sorry. Get your shoes."

A lot of Tom's clothing didn't fit Rinzler properly, but it was nothing a belt couldn't fix. He didn't look quite right in the baggy t-shirts, but until they went clothing shopping, this would have to do. Amy shuddered at the idea of taking the program out to Wal-Mart.

Rinzler didn't seem interested in leaving the apartment, ever. He only did so when they took him to the lab when both Tom and Amy had to go in. The few times they had taken him there, they had been picked up by one of Flynn's drivers. Amy could hardly wait to see how Rinzler would handle the subway today…

With some reluctance, Rinzler grabbed his sneakers at the foyer entrance and brought them to the couch. Amy watched with patient humor as he methodically went through the process of placing each shoe on each foot—then pausing to stare at each appendage as he adjusted to the sense of the shoe on his flesh—before he went back to tie each shoelace. He always moved slowly and carefully, as if he were anticipating an emergency that would force him to remove the shoe quickly.

Amy hid her smile as he went through this process. She had hoped he would get better with his sensory issues, but he was taking a longer time than Quorra had, according to Sam. She felt like she should have done something more to help, but Rinzler's problems weren't something she could just sooth away. He needed time.

And practice. It was almost funny—almost—when Rinzler hesitated twice over one of his shoelaces trying to tie them. His knots were always loose and lopsided, no matter how much he tried. Maybe they should have invested in Velcro first.

"You're hopeless," Amy said out loud, endeared. She smiled, though, especially when Rinzler peered up at her with squinted eyes, as if he couldn't decide if he should get mad over her comment. She offered her hand and helped him to stand.

This would be a long day.

Rinzler still did not like elevators, so they took the stairs. All the way down ten floors. That left both the hacker and program terribly out of breath, which sent Rinzler into more of a nervous state as he had to deal with his body-doing-things-he-didn't-understand. Amy forced herself to be patient, channeling Tom's philosophy that they had to respect Rinzler as an "adult" but yet still understand he was learning essentially everything that a child would. Amy thought that was highly unfair to her as a teacher, but it wasn't like either she or Rinzler had much of a choice in any of this.

After resting a bit, they got to the street and Amy felt her own panic bloom as she realized she had to keep a close watch on the man beside her as they traveled. Rinzler was not one to wander far the few times they did go outside, but he was easily startled. As they headed toward the transit tunnel, Rinzler was eyeing every passerby with either curiosity or unease. Amy hid a smile; once he learned human manners, this would be something to look back on and laugh about.

Hopefully.

Rinzler, despite being spacy and somewhat helpless with the most basic of tasks, was highly suspicious of anything he deemed "unknown." He froze at the entrance of the tunnel stairs, and once she stopped to look back at him, Amy was amused at his cat-like hunched shoulders. Maybe leaving him with Ruggers alone was a mistake, if he started to pick up cat mannerisms over people ones.

"What?" he demanded as he stood at the top stair, eyeing the darkened passage with suspicion.

"It's the transit tunnel," Amy replied, patient. She motioned with her hand. "Come on. We can't walk all the way to the store. Don't you have transit systems in the Grid?"

It took a bit more cajoling, but Rinzler eventually inched his way down the stairs. He wrinkled his nose at the smells and seemed uncomfortable in the darker lighting. Amy wondered what sort of thought process he had over those sensory changes; he must have been either very confused or curious. Probably both, she realized.

They got about fifteen feet from the ticket gate when Amy heard a subway car approaching on a distant track. She didn't think anything of it—until Rinzler literally jumped in the air and backtracked all the way to the wall.

Amy turned, surprised, but flinched when the shrieking subway car made a full entrance and the entire underground was filled with metallic screeching. She was forced to see Rinzler's reaction fully. He was staring out at the subway tracks, eyes larger than they had ever been, and every muscle visible was tensed in abject fear.

Oh. Oh, crap. Amy exhaled sharply and tried to ease the frightened program off the wall.

"It's the subway," she tried to say, having to shout over the noise. She got closer to the program, who was visibly unsettled. "It's okay." The last thing she needed was him to run away from her in the crowd.

Luckily, he didn't run toward the exit. Rinzler grimaced and stiffly edged forward along with her guiding arms, eyes continually on the tracks. "Noise," he mumbled. He winced when another train came screeching in closer.

Sighing, Amy tried to keep pushing him along. "I know, sweetie. It's okay. I won't let it hurt you," she said jokingly over the cacophony of noise. Oh, she hadn't thought this through well. She just didn't have the money for a cab and he had been afraid of buses too…

"You are smaller than _I_ am," Rinzler replied, shocking her with his irritation, his indignation. _That_ was certainly a new emotion! The mere fact that he had shot a quip back at her was… well… _good_.

Amy snorted, deciding not to make a fuss about it, though she was definitely going to tell Tom and Sam about it later. "Yeah, and that's saying something, isn't it, midget?" she goaded. She tucked her arm through his and forced him to keep pace with her as they walked along the tiled floor toward the gate. "Come here. I hate slow walkers."

Rinzler was incredibly reluctant about moving closer toward the trains, but Amy's firm grip seemed enough to keep him from bolting. They were lucky that the next train to come flying in was the one they needed to take. Rinzler went even paler as he shakily followed Amy's lead by stepping onto the train. Amy guided him aboard and smiled encouragingly at him even though he didn't quite meet her eyes. He was too busy staring at the ceiling and the indifferent Seattilites ignoring him in turn in their seats.

They sat by the doors, so Rinzler would know where the exits were. Amy thought he'd like that, but that didn't stop the very-visible tremors that coursed through him as the train lurched and carried them forward. It wasn't a long trip, thankfully. Amy merely kept her arm through his and tugged him closer whenever he flinched.

At the next stop, Amy hustled the stiff program out the door and onto the new platform. They climbed the stairs to the surface probably a bit too quickly, but Rinzler seemed to relax considerably once they were out in the sun again.

"See, Rinzler? You're alive! You did it!" Amy said once they hit the sidewalk. She grinned and bumped into his stiff shoulder gently. "We should put another gold star on your progress chart, if you had one. Tom won't let me get one for the kitchen."

Rinzler sent her a side-glance to end all side-glances. He knew she had just made fun of him, but he didn't know how. "You say strange things," he accused as they crossed one last street to get to the right strip of stores.

Amy grinned in response. "Here's the food store," she said, pointing up at the store. She guided them to the motion doors. "Stick close. I ain't running around Seattle looking for a lost program."

It was one of the cheapest food stores in the area and the food wasn't actually too horrible. The store was always busy, but at least it wasn't crowded inside, which was good for Rinzler. Rinzler looked around with wide eyes, the same expression he always wore when encountering a new environment. He had only ever been to ENCOM and their apartment, or outside buildings, so being inside a new one must have been a strange experience for him.

Amy grabbed a hand basket and led them through the isles. She didn't want to spend too much time there, since she didn't trust her luck or Rinzler's patience. Rinzler trailed behind her as they walked, looking everywhere and almost disappearing into his borrowed t-shirt and jeans. They really needed to take him clothes shopping, but Amy felt like making Tom endure that later.

"You like spaghetti. And macaroni. We can't always eat noodles though," she explained as they moved slowly down the isle, Rinzler still staring at the ceiling. "You didn't like the meatballs, huh?"

Rinzler spared her a moment to make a face. "Disgusting." He really did not like the concept of dead-things-we-can-eat.

Amy rolled her eyes. Vegetarians. "Thanks. You sure know how to flatter a cook's ego," she murmured. She picked up another brand of spaghetti that was cheaper. "Alright. No meatballs. We're getting lunch meat for me and Tom, though."

It was an odd compromise, but it was working for them all. Sam had offered monetary support to take care of Rinzler, but both Amy and Tom refused. It wasn't a real charity case, but the main reason was because Rinzler was ultimately Amy and Tom's responsibility. They had let him loose unto the world, Amy thought sadly, and now they had to face the consequences.

It could have been worse, those consequences. Amy smiled to herself as she browsed, her mind elsewhere. They were semi-officially hired by ENCOM to work on a very important project to save the life of someone that, well, Amy felt connected to personally. Rinzler was slowly, slowly adjusting to the real world, but he wasn't going crazy and killing anyone. Maybe he was getting better. Maybe they were doing this right.

Amy held up a box of rice and went to ask her quiet companion what he thought about it when she saw him.

Rinzler had stopped a few yards back and was staring out at nothing. He was swaying on his feet and seemed either lost in thought or like he had just remembered something immensely important.

"What's wrong, Rinzler?" she asked, surprised. She slowly put the rice box down.

Her surprise did not remain surprise for long. It morphed into full out concern when she saw Rinzler shaking that she could see it from all that distance away. She was not convinced the program would not suffer from seizures, so for a solid second, she thought he was.

_Do not panic_ , she told herself as she immediately headed back over to the program.

"Rinzler?" she asked. She held back a gasp when Rinzler sank down, his hands going out to grab onto something and in the process, he knocked over an entire row of boxed pasta. "Hey, stop that! What's the matter?"

The moment her hands grasped his arm, however, she clearly saw his face. It was lined with pain, his eyes clenched shut, and the tremors were worse. He was breathing loudly and each breath was ragged. His knees wobbled and he sank down lower.

Amy stood over him, and for a full second, didn't know what to do. It only occurred to her that they had better leave then. The dull sound of the shop's radio buzzed overhead like insects humming.

"Come on, Rinzler, we're leaving," she said quietly, reaching out. She grabbed his shoulders, which moved all too easily under her guiding force. "It's okay. We're leaving, right now."

She dragged him toward the front, but the weight of the basket hanging on her arm reminded her that she still had food to buy. Holding back a frustrated groan, she hurried them over to the self-check out and all but threw the items through. They only got a portion of what they needed, but Amy didn't care about that now. She bagged the three items without care and left the coin change in the tray as she hurriedly grabbed hold of Rinzler again to guide him to the door.

"Rinz? Rinz, look at me," she said, trying not to let her fear enter her voice. She clutched him close to her shoulder as they marched through the front doors. "You're okay. You're alright."

She had no idea what was wrong. He was shutting down again and it wasn't just mental. He could barely stand and Amy was dragged down every time his knees buckled. His eyes were sharp and bright, but it seemed only then that the red lines in them were noticeable. It could have just been Amy's panic, but it seemed like the blue in his lips and under his eyes was worse.

They had to get home. Now. Amy physically drew him closer and tried to surround the program when he seemed to lean into the touch. Maybe the touching grounded him. Amy grimaced and tucked his head closer to her shoulder.

"We're almost home. Just keep with me, okay?" she said, voice catching as they walked down the stairs to the tunnel again. "I'm sorry, buddy."

The ride back was tense and horrible and Amy desperately wished calling Sam for a ride would have given them quicker results than taking the metro. She didn't want Rinzler outside any longer than necessary. Something about being there triggered him. It could have been the lights, or the sounds, or the people, or…

Or all of it. Amy clenched her teeth in internal brief self-hatred when she realized this whole thing was her fault. She should have just let him stay home.

She should have just let him stay in the Grid.

Getting to their apartment took less time because Amy took a risk and forced them to take the elevator. Rinzler didn't react to it, which was not a good sign, but Amy couldn't imagine being able to carry him and herself up the stairs. Three minutes later, they were falling in the door and Amy finally could catch her breath.

"No more shopping, okay? I won't drag you out again. We're home," she said hurriedly. She dropped the shopping bag without a thought. "I'll make you some hot chocolate. You liked that last week, right?"

The program shoved past her into the room and made a beeline for the couch. Ruggers growled when Rinzler went past him, but thankfully didn't swat at the program. Amy hastily shut the door.

To her surprise, Rinzler spoke.

"Why?" he demanded, stunning her. He stumbled into the couch and fell onto it, as if his legs had finally stopped working. He sounded so desperate. "Why so much _noise_? Why is there no Grid here?"

Amy winced as he curled up on himself. She moved over and slowly knelt down next to the couch. She didn't know what to do to help him. Rinzler ignored her, his whole body shaking like a leaf.

"I can't feel—I can't feel anything. But I can. I can feel everything all at once." He whimpered and curled up against the couch, his hands grasping at the back of his skull. "My head."

Amy sat on the floor in front of him and could not believe the drowning sense of guilt and helplessness that kept her prisoner.

"…I'm so sorry, Rinzler," she said, chest burning. "This… is all my fault."

If they hadn't messed around with that stupid dare, if they hadn't kept the theft a secret, if she hadn't brought her laptop to ENCOM, maybe… maybe he wouldn't still be in pain. Maybe… that would have been better for him. To just… fade away in his own world.

Now, he was forced to die slowly in an alien world. Amy closed her eyes.

He _was_ dying, wasn't he?

"I should never have taken you out of the Grid. I know it's a bad place, but…" she said. When she opened her eyes, Rinzler was looking at her. "This world… isn't for you."

It could have been killing him and they didn't know. The Virus, if it was still active in the real world, could have been what was making him twitch and cringe in pain. Even if it wasn't something lethal, what if Rinzler couldn't go the same path as Quorra and assimilate? He was already damaged, psychologically as well as emotionally. This was… too much to put on him.

"Savior," Rinzler said, startling her. He looked at her strangely. "You saved me."

Amy grimaced. "It was an accident, Rinzler. I didn't save you," she said quietly. "I was just lucky."

Rinzler almost mimicked her expression. "Why?" he asked, voice dipping into desperation. "Why did you break into the Sea?"

This was their longest conversation to date and that was sort of depressing. Amy rubbed the back of her head, exasperated. "I didn't do it, Rinzler. I… I was just there at the right time," she said.

It was the mysterious Sea that did this. Whatever work Kevin Flynn had made… it had turned a computer into something more. It created it's own connection to the Internet, and that was mildly terrifying, because if it could do something like that, what else was the Sea capable of?

There was a distinct pause. Amy looked up and saw Rinzler was staring at her from his horizontal position. However, there was something off about his eyes. Amy recognized what happened, but before she could ask, Tron spoke.

"I wanted to find Flynn. I wanted to go back where I came from," he said, speaking in his soft, broken voice. "I wanted to go home, so badly." He closed his eyes, agonized. "I have failed Flynn. My only friend. I have failed."

Amy floundered for a moment. "No… no, Rin—Tron. You didn't fail Flynn, Tron. You fought back," she said. She sat closer and tried to be a reassuring presence. She had no idea what was reassuring to the program. "You're going to get _better_. You're going to survive."

"I failed," Tron repeated. He opened his eyes and the gray irises were slightly dilated. He looked ready to cry. They hadn't yet encountered that bodily function with him and Amy wasn't prepared to handle it without back up.

"No. Stop saying that," Amy said, frowning. "I promise you, we'll get through this. Me, you, Tom— _and_ Sam and Alan. We'll fix this." She hesitated when she went to reach out to touch him; maybe it was a bad idea. "You're going to be _okay_ , Tron."

It didn't matter if Quorra didn't trust Rinzler or Tron. Sam, Alan, Amy and Tom convinced each other that it was the right thing to do. They could do it, but only if Tron/Rinzler tried, too.

Amy then realized that even if it killed her, she'd make sure the program did try. She could not live with herself otherwise and she doubted the others could either.

"A User's promise is always kept," Tron suddenly said. His eyes were squinted in pain, but he did spare her a brief look of honest confusion. "You speak for many, though."

Amy sighed quietly. "We're all here for you, Tron," she said. She finally reached out and gripped his shoulder. "We're not going to leave you to do this yourself."

Something dark crossed Tron's face. "My name is _Rinzler_ ," he said, twitching.

Every time he said that, it broke her heart just a little more.

"Okay," Amy agreed at length. She smiled sadly. "Okay, Rinzler."

He curled up on the couch, but did not dislodge her hand. Amy sighed and leaned against the cushion in silent support.

They just had to be patient.

  
_**End Chapter Seventeen** _ **.**   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, Tom and Rinzler have a chat and then Alan gets a phone call.


End file.
